11 November 2012
Let me magically take you back in time to late May or early June of 2012….whichever you prefer…
I sat upright in his bed, holding the blankets to my chest, attempting the vulnerable but knowledgeable kind of look. He sat 10ft away in his boxer briefs. He was playing piano for me. I felt like this wasn’t my life. Like I had been whisked away to some busy city and found myself in the arms of a young piano playing, fast car driving, smooth talking, cocktail buying aristocrat. And truth be told, I had been. But it was more like the aristocrat and Bambi fell in love with each other after the universe randomly, yet so strategically placed them together.
I was no longer sitting upright. I now had moved onto my side (laying down, I mean). My head was on his pillow, facing him and his fingers that danced so well to the rhythm and melody true to his heart.
A blanket covered my nudeness as I gazed at him like a child does through a Macy’s window at Christmas time. Just watching, curious. Not a malicious or strategic thought crossing my mind, just an honest twinkle in my eye, a wish that this moment could really be taken in, that I could drink every detail of the sweet atmosphere before me. Like a child does, I watched with something more profound than wonder.
A lullaby for me, the pretty playing of his fingers upon the keys; a boy to play for me and understand the deep dark chocolate taste of music and all it’s rich varieties.
That summer was a dream, a summer that only girls in small towns only get to see on their televisions.
But I felt like an alien that landed in the middle of everyone’s busy life as they came home from their universities for summer vacation; a twist of fate that allowed Brady Locklear to become roommates with Vincent Duglé, but planned by god were our talents and capabilities in music.
He came to the edge of the bed where I sat upright, greeting him with the kiss that he had willed to ultimately belong to him.
I let the blanket fall where it pleased, along with the drags of his fingertips.
And we found bliss among one another as we climbed the mountain of walls built; discoveries galore within each dip and crevice all thoroughly but effortlessly told by god to be, to be only so that one can find that missing piece in another.
And that is what happens when you’re in love, you begin to feel as if you’re only real purpose is to be that buried treasure for someone else. And everyone likes buried treasure. Everyone searches for treasure. Everyone longs to see the wealth in something they desire. No angles involved, it’s light-hearted. At least in this case, it was.
I fell asleep embraced by my treasure while feeling like gold.
Birds sang, the sun rose, the waves obeyed the poles, and the summer breeze knew my name again. Blades of grass would have held my feet in an oh so familiar way if I were in Michigan, but this was Chicago, where the universe called to me in my daydreams of things I thought I had a clue of. So many ticks of the wheel just fell into place and out came this beautiful citrus colored flower, in the field of my world, where the seed had always meant to land.
lillyopal 