Oh, and the voiceover at the end is by a dude named Richard Bach.
Love,
McB
A blanket of ebony covers the (mostly) sleeping city, diamond patches glittering brilliantly. One restless Seattleite sits upon a balcony of a fancy hotel, breathing in the crisp air, hands wrapped around a hot, strong coffee. He's got a graveyard shift in...shit, less than three hours, and he's resigned to the fact that return to slumber is futile.
Mark likes the night. It's mysterious, quiet, calm. Thoughts gather and moments of clarity make themselves known. There's something about the night, and he likes it now. It hasn't always been this way...the night was once something to fear; lonliness, abandonment, feeling so unwanted, laying awake wondering what the fuck was wrong with you. But things have changed now, and he
likes the night.
She lays in his bed, their bed now, curled up all snug and warm, swimming in one of his New York yankees shirts after an evening of passionate fucking...no, he shakes his head as a moment of realisation, a moment of clarity brought to him by the night hits. She's laying in their bed, all snug and warm, swimming in one of his Yankees shirts after an evening of passionate love making.
Love making. Right up there with liking the night as far as something so seemingly out of reach, something not a part of his world.
He loves her. He loves his girlfriend. Mark loves Lexie. And it feels so fucking good. A feeling better than sex, hell, a feeling better than surgery. If he fractured his finger tomorrow, hell, if he fractured another part of his body he'd rather not think about fracturing (again), he wouldn't fucking care.
He stands, walks with his empty cup and his baby blues sparkle as the words whisper in his head over and over.
I love you, Lexie. Lexie, I love you. Alexandra Caroline Grey, will you marry me?
Wait, what the fuck?
She's sound asleep, and he doesn't wake her, he can't. She'd had such a stressful week, the variety where you feel you're walking naked down the street, and though he'd been there for her all the way, she needed to rest her weary body, and so he leans against the doorway, smiling contentedly, so damn contentedly, before curling up on the couch with a blanket, settling on a music channel.
100 Ultimate Love Songs.
Or something like that, he doesn't hear, for he's far too distracted by the scent of her perfume subtly reaching his nose as he pulls the blanket up. His memories flash to earlier that evening, cuddling with her.
A sweet, calming voice speaks, though it's not his girlfriend that he loves, but a voiceover for the countdown. He wasn't paying attention, but then he does.
"A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise. Our soulmate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life."
On second thought, Alexandra Caroline Grey, will you marry me... isn't so what the fuck after all.
