An Ode to Her : meta fiction

There is pretty much nothing in my life except her. When I go to sleep it is her voice which is whispering in my ears. It forces me to listen to her but I cannot understand what she says. I yearn to make sense of her words. Maybe she is confessing her love for me, maybe she is sharing her inmost secrets with me. No matter how hard I try, I cannot make sense of her. Yet, her voice is clear as water from a fresh spring, cool like the first breeze in the morning after a night of rain. It soothes me and soon pushes me in a trance like sleep. I am still aware of her, she gets closer to me but I cannot see her, or feel her, I can only listen to her, sense her. I try to tell her that I love her; that she is my life but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laughter, it is not a loud, shameless laughter of a child. It is a shy, muted laugh. She knows! I don’t need to tell her, She knows! She pushes me further in my daze. I try to resist but then I realize that it is her spell and I cannot resist her. I succumb to her shoves and embrace senselessness.

I wake up and she is beside me. I am not surprised, I am not overwhelmed. My head is over her hair. I turn slowly towards her and my nose is buried in her long hair. The smell is not intoxicating, it is refreshing. For a couple of moments I feel like burying my face in her hair; forgetting about everything else, losing myself in the silky dark maze. But no, her face beckons me. I turn my head further to see her face. My nose brushes hers. She breaks into a smile. A smile more beautiful than anything I have even seen before. A smile like drops of dew on a windflower swaying in gentle breeze. A smile which tells me innocence is not dead. It has the freshness of a thousand glorious mornings. It lasts for barely five seconds but I want to freeze this moment. I close my eyes for a while, there; now it won’t leave me. Her eyes ask me the meaning of what I just did but I pretend not to notice her question. I move my hand behind her shoulders and bring her closer to me. Now, the warmth of her breath is upon me. Her breaths come and go quickly revealing her apprehension. I move my lips to kiss her and feel the smoothness of rose petals. Gently first, then with slightly more fervor. There is a taste on my tongue. It is not wine or nectar. It is not sweet or salty. It is a purplish red taste. I withdraw slowly. Her eyes are closed. Perhaps she is still savoring the moment or maybe she is also creating a snapshot for her memory book. As she opens her eyes, she finds me looking in them; searching for something, looking for an answer to an unasked question. She is no mood for answering any questions. She rebukes me for being too inquisitive.

There is a tress of hair in front of her eye which troubles her every time a gentle breeze revisits her face. I move it aside with my hand and let my hand fall down to caress her cheek. Her skin has absorbed the chill of the morning but it warms under my hand. I repeat the movement with the back of my fingers, as I reach the top of her upper lip, she lowers her eyelids. It is an invitation but she could have as easily given me a command. I throw my hands around her shoulders and embrace her. The voluptuousness of her body is pressed hard into mine. Her breath is on my neck. Her fingers are playing with my ear lobe. As I make love to her, I can feel her breasts heaving against my chest. I do not wish for this moment to continue forever, I know it can’t. I do not wish for immortality, I wish for death, death at this very moment. This is the consummate moment of my life. I do not seek anything more; I know there can’t be anything better.

After sometime, while our bodies are still intertwined, I look over her. A morning shower is pelting against the glass of the window. I catch a reflection in the glass. It is not her reflection, not my reflection; it is our reflection. In this moment of our accord, it is impossible to tell where she ends and where I begin. There is pretty much nothing in my life except her.