Who said it was over?
It’s as good as it gets
Well we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves yet…
He finds her, splayed out in a field of grass, soaking in the rain as it patters down around her, turning her hair dark and the landscape to shimmering emerald. She’s oblivious to him as he slips closer, watching her with a smile as she wriggles her toes and continues humming a tune he recognizes but can’t place.
She only opens her eyes when he’s directly over her, the umbrella he hides under shielding them both from the downpour. She pouts, peeking up at him and his shelter, as though it had offended her.
“You’ll catch a cold.”
“That’s why we have fires and cocoa.”
She closes her eyes again, shooing him away, and he backs up far enough to let her have her rain-shower once more. She sighs, breathing in the damp air, and starts singing. The haunting sound fills the space around them, almost lyrics without proper words being formed, a tune he knows she’s making up as she goes, letting the earth know how much she’s enjoying the storm around her.
Thunder rolls up over the mountains, a deep bass undertone to her lilting notes, and she grins as she starts to pull herself to her feet, continuing as she moves about to a dance only she knows the steps to.
She grabs his hand as lightning flashes in the distance, and he joins her, laughing, adding his voice to hers as he drops the umbrella and pulls her close, wet clothes sticking to his as they share space and air, spinning, singing, ignoring the storm around them.
She ends on a particularly high note, another roll of thunder undercutting it, and stops her twirling to perform a perfect curtsy, to which he bows, grinning. She pushes her hair out of her face and grins up at the sky, humming.
“I think this might be as good as it gets.” She whispers, as though letting him in on a secret.
“Oh, I think you’ve got a few tricks up your sleeves yet.” He replies, chest tight at the beauty of her simply enjoying life.
If we swallow “it’s all over” and open wide on these make-to-believe
Sullen, chewed up, sodden soliloquies,
Oh, we’re sweet nothings anymore…
He finds her, curled up on her bed, knees drawn to chest, arms around her knees, faces hidden from view. She’s oblivious to him as he inches closer cautiously, watching her whole frame quake from silent tears, fingers digging into her clothes as she struggles to keep quiet.
She only looks up when he settles onto the bed beside her, gently stroking over her hair, his other arm curling around her, pulling her into his chest as he hushes her softly, kissing the crown of her head. She shivers and shifts closer, pressing into him as far as she dares, fitting to him like a puzzle piece.
“That’s why we have blankets and cocoa.”
He pulls a blanket around the pair of them, guiding her gently back to rest against the pillows of her bed, her hed on his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him as he continues to run his fingers through her hair, staring up at the ceiling, hoping to find the proper thing to say hidden among the crown molding.
No words form, and instead he begins to sing softly, long, lilting notes that follow no particular pattern. He gears his voice lower, a soft, deep resonance that he know she’ll hear in his chest and in quiet air around them. Softly, unsure at first, she joins in, her voice cracking until she gets it under control, adding higher notes to his, harmonizing wordlessly with the song he’s creating for her.
He smiles, drawing patterns over the back of her hand, a dance in its own right, and he feels her smile as she does the same, drawing gently over his chest with her fingers, tapping, brushing, trailing over his shirt as they create patterns with fingertips and voices, a music all their own.
He finishes on a long, low note, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. She hums low in her throat, shifting closer, and he presses another kiss to her head before he rests his head atop hers, lacing their fingers together as he continues to tangle his hand in her hair, hypnotized by the continued motion, silken hair sifting through his fingers as easy as water.
“I think you might be as good as it gets.” She whispers, as though letting him in on a secret.
“Oh, I think I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves yet.” He replies, chest tight at the beauty of her simply enjoying their life.
Best days of our lives
Better be the best days of our lives
Bring on the best days of our lives
Coming right up, whoa
Coming right up
If we can just get through this one…
Song of the Day: Not Now, But Soon by Imogen Heap