Shine a Light
by Scott Burnham
She curled away from their first kiss.
“Shhh,” she breathes into his still parted lips.
The sweat that has softly formed on his skin frightens him. He turns a shoulder to roll and taste open air.
“Come here,” she reaches, “your soft self needs to be pulled into my obsession.”
He lowers himself back to the bed, looking up to her deeply set eyes. “I,” he says quietly, “have lived my life alone. And now… I am… scared.”
“Do not accept the fear,” she whispers to his ear, coming down and around in a kiss.
He is quiet and winces, forcing resistance against this energy feeding into him, spiraling through his pores, being injected by her swirling tongue.
“It’s only the beginning that…” she breathes into him again.
He is quiet, still.
“You can run and hide with me in our cold togetherness.”
“I,” he is weak, “was.”
“Become full within my arms, ” she feeds. “Wide and full they fold around you.”
“…and what was my breath…” (he exhales slowly, looking ahead in a questioning glance) “…now tastes of yours.”
His last breath flies into the sky in mournful steps; blows lazily in the winds, saddened by the memory of when it was once swallowed in gulps of life – beautiful dry life. In its crossing of the earth it has nodded a solemn hello to other final breaths as they rise from those that have lost their footing. These last gasps, rising in sighs, join together in a breeze of what was once life for the broken shells scattered below.
His breath paused above him to find him broken, his head hung in sorrow. She is gone.
His hands cup his face. It is mountains of stone, rock toppling, crushing him beneath the weight of her absence.
In spiraling confusion, he draws in air and lifts his hand to touch anything. To grasp but one solid item, to feel a tangible element among this world, to know that life does exist in her absence, that she does not suck the life from him, from the everything, upon her departure. He reaches slowly in front of him. A pain shoots through his gut, he buckles and folds, holding his stomach. He gulps down thick swallows of air to dilute the pain. Each drag fans the desperate flame within him – he growls in discomfort and the growl widens until it hurls from his throat in a maddened yell “AAAAHHHHhhhh…” which funnels from a burst to a whisper – “I… am here… and lonely.”
A nervous giggle escapes his lips as he awakens to the moment and finds himself touching something soft. He lies in a glow after touching such a beautiful thing. The warmth, softness, his fingers glide over the top, feeding his need for the knowing that the rest of life is at his touch.
The warmth, the softness…
“My love, with me in your arms, you firmly inside me, did you think there was such a time apart from this?”
“Dear, I drink from you as I withdraw and lose myself within you as I enter again.”
“Mmmm, this is so… this is…”
“Everything.”
He gripped firmly her sides, thumbs curved to cup the base of her breasts. Pulling her to him, they kissed with turbulent passion; he felt himself slide within her again. He loosened his grip and could feel her warm, soft skin. The warmth, the softness…
The warmth, the softness is nothing more than the memory of when she was at his touch, was at the grace of his fingers. He opens his eyes to see them tremble in front of him. His eyes squeeze tears which bubble as they appear. His skin, grown thick through years of solitude bubbles and pops with the corrosive tears of longing for a lost partner. In panicked release, they roll to his chin and drip from its quivering point. Madness… the burn of his virgin tears slide like a razor down the length of his face. He forces his eyes wide and sees the blurred shakes of his hands before him, and, in front of them still, a single object, blurred further through his acidic tears.
Cool and blue, he must hold it, touch it, feel it there. He tries to remember what it is in front of him, but insanity drives its name from his mind.
For a darting second, he knows that it is his hope. And reaches forward.
Their intimacy carried him through sleep well into the next day. He rolled to his side to kiss her and love her for the weakness he felt in him. A crinkle of paper scratched against his cheek. One line filled his vision- “Today’s new sun took me away to play with it. A kiss… for what was.”
He lunges forward to hold the blue hope. This physical item – a product of tangible life – some evidence that it still exists in the vacuum of her lost presence. He extends his hand forward, watching it shake a foot to each side in spastic shock. He chokes, realizing that he cannot reach forward at all, frantic with uncontrollable side-to-side shakes. Crippling panic drives his brow to a quivering sharp scowl which pulls at the skin of his temples; his jaw clenches to the threshold of injury. The pressure against his gums gel blood with saliva. He, unable to reach forward, near blindness with his tears, throws his body forward, hurling toward hope. It grows in size as he dives toward it, until, as all his vision is this amorphous blue blur, he senses it must be right before him, and scoops his arms to gather it. They sweep in wide grasps and pass each other in a wisp of air, coming back around to hold only him. He falls and curls into a bundle of knees and arms tucked tightly. He is still, and wonders why he cannot feel the floor.
His muscles contract in a spasm and lock. Paralyzed in a tight ball, he weeps silently.
His last breath as a whole man floats.
