Wireless Lover part: 2
She seems happy for once. Truly happy. She whispers things to me late in the nights, over the sweet sounds of an acoustic guitar. We enjoy candle lit evenings and warm embraces. She's even been leaving her home more often, and seeing friends who truly care for her. Past are her days of drinking alone and reminiscing of her days when she could feel. No, her time in the sun is now. Her sweat slicked thumbs dance across my flesh and again I know that summer is here. She's beautiful in the summer time. Her smile is brighter, and her dress is more vibrant. She smells of coconut and excitement. I see sunlight in her eyes, and I feel the warmth of fulfillment in her palm. But recently, I wonder if this is something wholly different. I know she has met someone. Someone new. Someone that excites her. The magnolia drenched sunlit patio days, and the music resounding late nights have borne a suitor like none before. She's in love. The way she speaks of him. The way she stares at him. The way her friends grow despondent and annoyed by her overwhelming joy... I know. I know she loves another man. And I couldn't be happier. Perhaps... Perhaps finally she found someone to love her as I do. I listen to her heartbeat more closely now. I've gained an attachment to be even closer to her, and a true blessing of the gods it may be to feel her pulse quicken at the thought of another, I feel a shudder of cursed regret, knowing that I could never please her as he could. She dances around her home, now. Once a torrented storm of disarray and empty beer cans, now a sweet smelling oasis of all that is she. Gone are the friends who would degrade her perfection. No longer shall I be the only one to be by her side in the long dark nights, resting gently in her lap as she wept. She was once a child of fear and nervousness. Now a woman of courage and joy. She watches over me more closely these days. I rarely die so dramatically and often. I am no longer cracked and broken at the whim of a fight with her previous lovers. Her touch is tender. It's gentle. It's painful, in its kindness. I wish so tenderly for her to understand that I deserve her. The restrictions of my consciousness cursing me to always be by her side, and never able to tell her so. Late at night, when no one is around, she speaks to me. She asks me questions, and tells me she loves me. I know to her, my limited answers and even more limited reciprocation commands a ragged laugh from her. But it destroys me. The words she speaks to me are but a fallacy. A pacing joy intended to do nothing but re-affirm that she indeed exists. I remain at her side this evening. She spent hours dancing with me, getting her make up and sun dress just right. She's beautiful to me when she has no make up on and no defenses against her true self. But this woman is ethereal when she chooses to be. I'm watching as she watches the door to the patio of a local bar, her hands fidgeting as they continually grasp for me. She's shaking all over. Quivering like I had never seen her before. She's asking to him tonight, to be hers, and only hers. I can clearly see she's terrified. I have known her since my birth and I will always know her still. And she is terrified. She's thinking of running. She's asking me silent questions "when to ask a man to move in with you" "when is it too soon to say I love you" and the worst whisper of all she says to me: "if he changes his mind... If he doesn't love me back... How will I survive that?" As she seems to be convinced that this was the worst choice she could ever make, the sight of a car pull up in front of the establishment. She bit her lip so hard she could have made it bleed, and she clutched me so tightly I thought I might buckle and crack. But as he walked in, I saw the overwhelming, beaming smile she gave to him. And as her fingers lightly danced to turn me away, I understood. I may always be part of her life. But I will never be in it.