bookofmirrors | Private Moments

blckwngdorcl said recently that life was a series of private moments. To some extent, that's true. Not even the best writer (and I'm not claiming to be, by any means) can truly capture a moment, or its significance to one person.

Be that as it may, I'm going to chronicle a series of private moments, using only pronouns, that will probably make sense only to myself, and perhaps those people who were also there at the time.

(Given the day, it would be quite apropos to write about the private moments from 2003. But, I'm not going to limit myself to that, so deal.) :)

He handed me the plate, untouched. I felt a myriad of emotions rush through me simultaneously. Surprise, certainly. Pride at his decision and follow-through. Awe at the beauty of his strength. A sort of choppy feeling - I'd been psyching myself up to partake of this plate all day, and had programmed myself to reach for the contents. Annoyance when I couldn't seem to overcome that programming and I found myself holding this useless thing in my hands, and wondering what to do with it. Fear at the thought of the reaction of those around us. Love. Pride. Love.

The taste of her tongue in my mouth, and the indescribably precious feeling of the arch in the small of her back. Her face so close to mine, etched in bliss. Comfortable. Beautiful.

"I've never been disappointed in you." (Note: That one actually applies to two people.)

Listening to him, the logic of his arguments, and finally, finally, hearing for the first time the repeated words he wasn't saying this time around. "You HURT me." And finally understanding.

Watching a Christmas show at work that I'd watched last year with my parents. It hitting home that, for the first time ever, I wasn't going to be spending Christmas with them. Feeling my breath catch, and my eyes fill up with tears. And being truly surprised that I really cared for my family that much. And being somewhat relieved about that.

Curled up next to him, lamenting my fate, feeling like shit, after I'd done everything with all the best intentions. Suddenly being locked in his gaze. That unreal cerulean blue, the indescribable expression as he kissed me softly, over and over again, his eyes large, liquid. "Because you've been good."

"Am I dead, M'Lord?"

"Look, you're cute and all, but I just don't do relationships." And finally understanding, accepting - those words having the ring of Truth that all the other true statements had lacked.

"I love you, you know. I don't know why."

Watching the sleeping god.

Sobbing, curled up on my bed as a child, praying the sincerest of prayers that God strike me dead the next time I disappointed my parents. (He obviously hasn't taken me up on that one.)

Hearing her say, "It's my joy." And wishing I believed her with my heart, and not just my mind.

"And I don't just mean irritated. I mean MAD. I'm talking Emperor-esque bolts of lightning coming out of her eyes and shit like that. I told her that watching her was like being able to see a star as it would lash out with a solar flare and just incinerate whatever it touched. Thank the Gods it wasn't directed at me. I don't think I am ready to expound on what exactly caused that reaction to the general public, but it was awesome and rather frightening to behold." (Note: A quote from

blckwngdorcl)

The subtle snatching of it from my outstretched hand, which I pretended to overlook. The sense that I'd just brushed my fingertips over a very sore wound. And, of course, I had.

Getting to smell him again. The look in his eyes when he caught mine.

The feel of my cats.

..........................and too many more to count.