I wrote some on '…contradiction…' but felt my mood shift. I am listening to music that makes you want to fall in love, so I had to write sweet things.
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Sometimes, before the world comes to life, Marissa likes to slip downstairs in the pre-dawn blue.
She'll trail her fingers lightly over Bianca's arm as she leaves the bed, always amazed that the woman will turn in her general direction while still asleep; soft skin revealed in pale light and chestnut waves tumble forth, a tender sigh comes from parted lips, and then Bianca settles once more as Marissa steps quietly away.
Then it is bare feet on hardwood floors; it is knowing just where to walk to avoid the inevitable creaks that sound so loud in the early morning. It is passing by each and every door along the way – the one for A.J., the one for Miranda, the one for Gabby – some of them shut, some of the left open a little bit; it is a hand sliding effortlessly against the bannister as Marissa descends to the first floor of this house.
This house, where she can find anything – even in the dark; this house, with drawings held up by magnets on the refrigerator and framed pictures dotting every wall - this house is the realization of every dream that Marissa has ever had.
She could write poetry about the plaster beyond the wallpaper or sing a song to every single corner of every single room. She could paint a million portraits of this house; one for the kitchen or one for the dining room or one for the foyer that she kicks her shoes off in at the end of the day. But instead of all of that, Marissa wakes up before everyone else and goes downstairs.
And there, in her favorite chair – the one that sinks comfortably under her weight, the one that she just had to have – Marissa leans back and shuts her eyes. And she listens to this house; the ticking of a clock or that one faucet that still drips. She listens to where boards still groan, to the distant hum of electricity running in a thousand different devices.
Her hearing goes further than that, though.
Marissa can hear laughter from birthday parties and bad jokes told late at night and family gatherings over the holidays. Marissa can hear sweetly whispered words – for a child in need of solace and affection, for a partner deserving of support and love. Marissa can hear the running of young feet, up and down the hallways. Marissa can hear the click of the front door as another evening draws to a close, everyone that she loves finally home.
And there, at the center of it all is the soundtrack to Marissa's whole world – Bianca.
It is the sound of Bianca's voice as it floats out of the living room; it is the sound of Bianca filling up a pot with water or her steady slicing of vegetables upon a cutting board. It is the sound of Bianca's amusement over something Gabby has said or Miranda has done; it is the sound of Bianca as she types on the laptop – legs curled up on the couch and the television on but with the volume barely up. It is the gasp that escapes Bianca's mouth when Marissa first touches her, no matter how many times… no matter how many ways… It is the breathless moan that Bianca releases as their bodies begin to move in tandem; it is the sound of Bianca's heart as it rapidly beats underneath Marissa's ear – it is the sound of endless adoration.
And that's what Marissa is listening for when she gets up this early, long before anyone else and even before the sun pushes the darkness totally from the sky.
In every room, in every remembered smile, in all of this not-so-silent silence, Marissa finds her happily ever after.
In this house, Marissa has found forever.
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end