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Against the Wall

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Sometimes she was as wild as the vines that grow madunderfoot.

“Because I'm still in love with you I want to see you dance again. Because I'm still in love with you on this harvest moon,” she sang out loud. 

Long strands of copper hair cascaded in waves around her. She swayed her body back and forth, moving to the music playing in her thoughts.

“Hop in babe.” He lifted her up into the shopping cart. Her low heeled combat boots peeking out of her long tutu-esque dress that filled the cart.

She was used to people staring at her, disapproving in the way she set herself alight.

“Everyone should ride the shopping cart, don’t you think?" she wondered out loud. "It’s fun.” She shed other people’s inhibitions, and insecurities with the way she giggled unapologetically.

“That’s right doll.” He pushed the shopping cart fast and hard toward the cookie isle. She wanted chocolate chip cookies.

“Ooh, chocolate chip cookies!” She stood up waving her arms in the air.

He watched her eat them one after the other while she danced. She was often silly at times, but was always herself, not caring what anyone else thinks. And sometimes she was that little girl who hid behind her mother peeking out at the stranger. She was susceptible to being overly self-conscious, so he indulged her whims.

To him she was someone who would always love him, accept the imperfect him, understand the confused him, even when he was the wrong him, because that was the only version she knew how to be. 

“You’re my favorite,” he said offhand.

“Favorite?”

“Yeah,” he stammered. “My favorite lips to kiss. My favorite name to see appear on my cell phone. My favorite way to spend an afternoon, you know, my favorite.”

“You’re my favorite too,” she stared down at her bare feet.

She stood against the wall, the brick wall in her loft apartment that she had painted in fuzzy duck yellow, princess pink and majesty purple.

She was injured, mentally and emotionally, literally and metaphorically. Standing against the wall made her feel safe and happy. She knew she wouldn’t falter as long as she leaned up against her wall of colors. Here, against the wall she told him how much she had missed him while she was away.

“Where did you go?” He felt injured too. He hadn’t seen her for weeks. She hadn’t replied to any of his texts.

“I went inside of myself.” She offered him her crooked smile.

What could he say? It was just a matter of how she was simply taking care of herself. “I missed you.”

It was kairos – the rightness of time and place that brought them together. She was too quiet and he was too loud.

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He was too petty, too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. And she was too forgiving, too literal and too harsh on herself. Yet, every morning she woke up a blank canvas, unafraid to add color to whatever wondered into her life that day.

“Show me.” Her delicate hands traced his handsome face, her finger smoothed over his full lips before reaching up on the tips of her toes to kiss him. She kissed him with a curious childish delight.

And he smiled into her mouth and inhaled her moan. In that moment he knew that they were going to be okay. He pulled her closer at the waist. He confessed to her how long he’d looked for a place to fall to his knees. His hands worked magic underneath her layers of tulle.

Oh, how his hands cradled her hips against the wall of colors. Oh, how he moaned between her thighs until he blushed the color of her lips. Oh, how she fit over his hips, her throat in one hand and her heart in the other. She said his name. He fell sweetly, praising her, thanking her. And she took his forgiveness over and over again.

He found her to be like a lazy Sunday morning gently parting ways with sleep. It was the day they woke up with legs entangled. Fingers intertwined. 

“Sundays should come with a pause button,” he thought out loud.

He spoke of memories that made her laugh her heart out before they tore her open and left her in pieces.

She got out of the bed and went to stand against her wall of colors. “In this world there are things you can do alone, like sadness,” her slate blue eyes searching his for a connection. “And there are things you can only do with someone else, like love.”

He watched her in awe of everything she had become, and everything she had endured. She is fierceness and tenderness within the same breath. He wanted to be the boyfriend who can be silent with her in a moment of despair or confusion, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing because he didn’t have these answers. Instead he wanted to be brave enough to face the reality of her powerlessness in that moment.

“Yes, love we can do together. But I want to be here, with your sadness too; otherwise we never experience anything fully.”

“Love is never easily understood, is it?” She smiled her crooked smile.

He had come to learn that she was like a novel written in another language. Their love was unexpected, the kind you only read about. She was the one who put color inside his world. But here’s the thing about being in love with a guarded girl. When she lets you in, it’s not because she needs you. It’s because she wants you. The truth of those words has been written many times before.

“You’ll always be my favorite.” He reached for her hand as he stood with her against the wall. 

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Written by AlexaRey
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