REVEILLER
****************************
His hand is so thin. I like to touch the skin. Moist. Delicate. I like to hold his hand in mine.
His eyes never open. The lids flutter endlessly, like he's suffering.
He suffers alone there. I know it.
I keep him as close as possible every night. To beat back the razor sharp realities he faces alone.
Alone.
But I am here, aren't I?
Sometimes, after a long week, he'll sleep for ten hours.
His work is taxing him...wearing him down. Time is ebbing. It worries me.
I never let the worry show.
I don't have to sleep anymore.
We have our passionate reunions, then dinner, then a bath.
Sometimes reading together by the fireplace.
Then it's always the same.
My arms opening. Him climbing inside. So cold. Like he was born with the flu and will never recover.
I am the cure.
Opening. To let him in. And now he's safe. Nestled here with me.
I watch the clock. Felix. Two. Four. Six.
I remember the first time I stayed with him. I still slept then. He began to scream. He couldn't hear me.
He said he dreamed but couldn't remember. I knew that feeling well. He called them dreams. Names I could not remember. For so long. I knew they had another name.
His skin like a seals...slick and leathery and mottled with uncertainty.
I pulled him close then. I pull him close always.
His eyes have stopped fluttering now. I'm happy. He can't keep living with all this.
The stars are fading outside our house. Somewhere in my memory I hear a rooster. Knowing the rooster, like the farm, is long gone.
A life I never really lived. A fading, vague recollection.
New Moon.
Everything fading when I hold him.
He's moving around now. Not waking just yet. I love the way he needs me. I need him to need me. It makes me feel buoyant....yes....like I am floating... Floating forever beside him.
Flying gets boring after awhile. I've had too many missiles fired at me.
His breathing is slow. Mine is quickening. I see the first nudge of day outside our window.
"Lex."
A groan. A whisper. An affirmation.
"Lex."
Those eyes. Wow...I can never remember my next thought when I see them the first time. Every time, the first time.
His hand is running along my back. I can smell his love for me. It's that tangible.
And the flesh was made word.
Full Moon.
"Clark."
"Lex."
And everything is heightened and fresh, and yesterday's sorrows and loss mean absolutely nothing. Because....
"You're awake."
END
Author's Note: This could be seen as a sort of companion piece to 'Ma Saison Preferee,' a story I posted some time back....but I think it can stand on its own as well. Please review and tell me what you think. -J.B.
****************************
His hand is so thin. I like to touch the skin. Moist. Delicate. I like to hold his hand in mine.
His eyes never open. The lids flutter endlessly, like he's suffering.
He suffers alone there. I know it.
I keep him as close as possible every night. To beat back the razor sharp realities he faces alone.
Alone.
But I am here, aren't I?
Sometimes, after a long week, he'll sleep for ten hours.
His work is taxing him...wearing him down. Time is ebbing. It worries me.
I never let the worry show.
I don't have to sleep anymore.
We have our passionate reunions, then dinner, then a bath.
Sometimes reading together by the fireplace.
Then it's always the same.
My arms opening. Him climbing inside. So cold. Like he was born with the flu and will never recover.
I am the cure.
Opening. To let him in. And now he's safe. Nestled here with me.
I watch the clock. Felix. Two. Four. Six.
I remember the first time I stayed with him. I still slept then. He began to scream. He couldn't hear me.
He said he dreamed but couldn't remember. I knew that feeling well. He called them dreams. Names I could not remember. For so long. I knew they had another name.
His skin like a seals...slick and leathery and mottled with uncertainty.
I pulled him close then. I pull him close always.
His eyes have stopped fluttering now. I'm happy. He can't keep living with all this.
The stars are fading outside our house. Somewhere in my memory I hear a rooster. Knowing the rooster, like the farm, is long gone.
A life I never really lived. A fading, vague recollection.
New Moon.
Everything fading when I hold him.
He's moving around now. Not waking just yet. I love the way he needs me. I need him to need me. It makes me feel buoyant....yes....like I am floating... Floating forever beside him.
Flying gets boring after awhile. I've had too many missiles fired at me.
His breathing is slow. Mine is quickening. I see the first nudge of day outside our window.
"Lex."
A groan. A whisper. An affirmation.
"Lex."
Those eyes. Wow...I can never remember my next thought when I see them the first time. Every time, the first time.
His hand is running along my back. I can smell his love for me. It's that tangible.
And the flesh was made word.
Full Moon.
"Clark."
"Lex."
And everything is heightened and fresh, and yesterday's sorrows and loss mean absolutely nothing. Because....
"You're awake."
END
Author's Note: This could be seen as a sort of companion piece to 'Ma Saison Preferee,' a story I posted some time back....but I think it can stand on its own as well. Please review and tell me what you think. -J.B.