By d
Date: 30 October 1997

Murmur

        They were waking up.  Actually, they were in between being asleep
and being awake.  She looked over at him, sleepy-eyed and content, and 
examined the piece of hair that never stayed in place.  His curly chocolate
colored hair and innocent face always made her think of a baby.  Especially
when he was curled up like he was right then.  His arm was around her waist,
and she carefully propped herself up on her elbows to watch him wake up. 

        He wasn't quite awake yet, so she knew it would be a while.  He 
always woke up slowly, like spring wakes up from summer.  A bit at a time,
so quietly that you hardly notice until its just there.  I love him, she 
thought.  And she wondered if she'd ever told him that.  Not in so many 
words, but she figured he knew.  After all, he spent more time in her 
cluttered apartment than he did at his own house.  He had a very nice house,
but it was too formal, and her apartment was more comfortable.  The fern in
the window that needed water, the half empty jars of vanilla flavored honey
above the sink, the mismatched blue and green towels in the bathroom.  They 
all fit their relationship better than the perfect sanity of his house.  

        He stirred a little, and pulled her closer to him.  Almost there, 
she thought.  Soon his eyes would open, and she'd be able to lose herself in
the mysteries that he hides behind the bright blue ocean of color in his
eyes.  He has beautiful eyelashes, she thought to herself.  And she let her
eyes drift down his body, still blinking in pleased amazement, just as she
was the first time she woke up and saw him laying beside her.  Everything 
from his strong muscled legs to his smooth stomach made her wonder how she'd
managed to fall into his life.

        She never told him she loved him, because they didn't really get
around to it.  They never even officially started dating, now that she 
thought about it.  She just looked over one day, and saw him there.  And
she knew that he saw her too.  And that was it.  They made such an odd 
couple.  Everything about him was so new to her.  The suits and ties and 
silk boxers that matched his shirt.  But her flowered summer dresses and 
long braided hair must have looked just as new to him.  

        The way he pointed out things was not so strange to her, though.  
He always noticed what she did.  How the color purple didn't seem to clash
in her garden, as it would if someone was wearing all the flowers she'd 
planted.  And how her life clashed with the world around her, like she was
a rainbow of color in the darkness of businessmen and briefcases.  

        He moved again, and the blankets slipped gracefully off his frame. 
She gasped, and wondered again how she found this amazing man.  And then
he opened his eyes, and saw her looking at him.  

        He looked right into her eyes, and wondered to himself how he 
happened upon a woman with such a deep soul in this city.  He could stare
at her honey colored eyes for hours.  He ran his hand gently down her side,
and marvelled at her soft skin and curves that seemed to go on forever.  

        She mumured something under her breath, and gently kissed his ear. 
He didn't hear her, but he didn't need to.  She always did that, and he knew
that whatever she was saying didn't need words.  The little noises she made
were like music to him, and he knew that he would never have to ask her to 
explain what she was saying.  Even if his ears couldn't make out the words,
his heart could. 

        The way their bodies fit together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle 
laying in the sunshine on her bright purple sheets, was like a song.  A slow
longing song, reaching its peak and spiraling towards a climax.  

        Her siamese cat jumped on top of them, like they were a mountain to
be climbed.  It purred, swished its tail, and then it was gone.  That was
its way of saying good morning, just as she always said good morning to him.
But her way always changed.  

        Today, it appeared that it was going to be slow and gentle.  
Sometimes she'd pounce on him like a tiger, and wake him roughly as if she
wanted to play.  And other times she would simply slip out of bed, make 
herself a cup of ginseng tea, and watch him from the rocking chair across 
the room.  He liked it when she did that, it made him feel like she was
watching over him, like a mother cat watches over its kittens.  Purring, 
brooding, but letting him wake on his own.

        Some days, like today, she would simply lay there until he woke.  
He never really knew what she was thinking when she stared at him like that, 
but she always had this stunned look on her face, like she thought she was 
dreaming.  And then she'd slide closer to him, and entwine herself in him
like a vine.  They always clicked.  

        She was laying very still, and she was looking into his eyes.  She
saw things running through his mind, but she couldn't figure them out.  But
she also knew she didn't need to.  And she murmured again, "I love you." 

        And he didn't need to hear it to know it.