Serenity of Books
Disclaimer: Not mine. In fact it's painstakingly obvious.
Rating: G
Spoilers: None.
Pairing: J/S
Feedback: Surrounds me like sunlight and air.
Summary: With each look, every touch, and the individual words that make up his sentences he turns her pages.
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He's constantly reminded of her; he's not sure if that's good or bad. Not sure if he's looking for things that remind him of her or if they just find him. Either way there are these things, and they remind him of her.
Some are pretty obvious; a blonde-haired woman who walks past him on the sidewalk, so close her hair brushes against his face. For a brief moment his field of vision is comprised of golden hues and rolling waves of hair. Just as soon as his mind registers that fact that the hair wasn't hers, it's gone. The scent of the stranger's hair was wrong and it wasn't as soft as Sam's. That's what he has these days, though. He had these things that were once familiar but not quite, comfortable only in the reaction when a memory sneaks to the surface and disappears too quickly. So fleetingly that it's almost as if it never happened at all, but he's touched her skin and smiled between their kisses so he knows all too well that they did happen, that she happened.
The less obvious ones are somewhat of a mystery. There was a book he'd read ages ago; he can't remember the title. He thinks the author might've been George Orwell. He loved this book so much but couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that kept him turning it's pages. The story eludes him now but he does remember one thing; he never finished reading it. For some reason he didn't want to, thought that it was so good he didn't want it to end. That there was no way in which that book could end that would satisfy him. That's how he sees Samantha. With each look, every touch, and the individual words that make up his sentences he turns her pages. Their relationship has been over for quite some time but he never saw it's span as finite or it's course as predetermined. He won't stop turning but at the same time he doesn't want to see the end.
He picks up his phone, his fingers dialing a number that's been seared onto his fingertips.
"Hello?"
"Sam."
"Hey."
He clears his throat; "I want to tell you about a book I've read."
He can picture her smile on the other end.
"Yeah, okay."
"There's a catch."
"Which is?"
He chuckles, "I don't know how it ends."
"Well, I'm sure we can work something out."
Her pages keep turning as he doesn't look for their end.