Ask me again
Those eyes, they are the most precious, beautiful thing in the world to you. His eyes are, without a doubt, the mirrors to his soul, that soul that forever belongs to you, to you and to no one else. Every time those eyes and yours met, what you feel is something that cannot be described, what you feel is something so pure and so special you can barely breathe. It takes your breath away, the way he looks at you in the eyes, it leaves you breathless the way those eyes and yours communicate in a language unknown to the rest of the world.
His eyes are, without a doubt, those that can speak words that don't exist, words that are only meant for you to hear, words that had been created by him just to try and explain how hard he has fallen for you, how much and how desperately he needs you, how much he wishes he could make all your dreams come true and give you absolutely everything you want.
Your dreams, they have all come true.
Everything you want, you have it in your arms now.
He is everything you want.
He is the one that has made all your dreams come true.
He is the answer to your silent, sometimes denied prayers.
Those eyes, all you've ever needed and wished and hoped and dared to ask for can be found in those eyes. Those eyes, all your dreams came true when those eyes and yours met and he asked you to be his, forever. Those eyes, all your dreams came true and you became the princess you had always wanted to be the day he promised you his eternity will be yours and no one else's.
Several years ago, under a sky that was lit by the moon and the stars, he asked you to be eternally his.
You said yes.
And with tears in those eyes he asked you again, just because he wanted to hear that little word that meant a lifetime of happiness once more.
And you said yes.
And then you asked him to ask you again.
And you said yes for the third time.
From that night on, every night – even after you became his wife – he would ask you to be his forever. And you would make him the happiest man alive by saying yes, again and again and again.
When everything fell apart and you two were physically forced to be separated, in the middle of a court full of people that had been waiting to see him be convicted, as you held him tightly for the last time, he whispered in your ears – that were only open to his voice but couldn't hear any other noises or sounds –: "I'll keep asking every night before I fall asleep. Will you keep saying yes every night?"
Six months you spent alone, miserable and depressed.
Six months you spent wishing you had died, so he wouldn't have had to be doomed to go through that Hell and back.
Six months you spent crying and dying inside, pretending to be okay and faking so the rest of the world wouldn't know you were suffering terribly.
Six long months that seemed like the worst, most horrible eternity you spent missing him, needing him, loving him more and more with each passing second, wishing he were there with you, so he could ease you pain. But he wasn't there, and it was his absence that was causing that pain that was destroying you.
Six months you spent crying yourself to sleep, and between desperate sobs all you could manage to whisper was his name.
And, right before the sleeping pills kicked in, you somehow always managed to whisper 'yes' to answer the question he promised he would ask every night.
Then he came back.
He came back home, to you.
He was a free man again.
But he was destroyed.
He wasn't the same.
He wasn't the man that had once swept you off your feet.
He wasn't the man you had married.
He wasn't the man you had promised forever to.
He wasn't the man that had sacrificed everything for you.
He wasn't the man that had saved you, more than once and in all kinds of ways.
He wasn't the man you had given yourself to.
He wasn't the man that had taught you what love is.
He wasn't the man that had taught you how to love.
He wasn't the man you had made your husband.
He was broken.
He had changed.
He was damaged.
And you couldn't stop feeling guilty.
Guilt was, actually, all you could feel.
Guilt, and sorrow, and pain, and a deep, dark hole right in the centre of your heart.
It was your fault, and no one could say anything to convince you otherwise.
His life was ruined because he had chosen you, because he had chosen to save you. He had betrayed the country he had once sworn to always protect and defend because your life was on the line. He had chosen you. Your safety above the country's he chose. For you, treason he committed. For you, his life he ruined.
It was your entire fault.
Every night you would try to hold him and rock him to sleep, but he wouldn't let you.
Evert night you would try to caress him, but he wouldn't let you.
Every night you would try to whisper soothing, sweet things in his ears, but he wouldn't let you.
But despite all that, each night you waited.
Waiting hurt, but each night you waited.
You waited, embracing the hope that he would ask you that question again.
You waited, but those words you loved so much never left his lips, and those eyes that mean everything to you never shone the way they used to before the walls came crumbling down on you and both your lives were hit by the tragic hand of destiny.
You waited, and waited, and waited.
But during those cold nights, he never asked you.
He just ignored you.
He just hurt you with his silence.
He would just turn his back on you and act as if you didn't exist. Oh, but when he wanted sex, when he wanted to get off, ignoring you wasn't an option all of a sudden, was it? Oh, God, how bitter were those months for you; your existence was only acknowledged when he felt like fucking you. The only physical connection between the two of you materialized only when intercourse took place, but after his drinking problems became too much, even silent, rough sex stopped, leaving you feeling emptier than ever. Because the truth is – and you never had a problem admitting it, even if doing so cost you your pride and dignity - you didn't really care that he only spoke (barely) to you when he wanted to fuck you; you needed that connection, even if it wasn't what it used to be, even if it wasn't what you had gotten used to. You needed to be one with him; you needed your body and his to become one, even if for him it was just sex and you were the only one pretending you two were making love, even when you knew he wasn't.
When that sort of wicked, tainted, destructing connection you had finally died when he was too drunk to even move, your hope died as well.
Your hope was dead, but you kept on waiting.
You waited, and waited, and waited, thinking that one day he would sober up, hold you tightly in his arms and simply ask you again if you wanted to be his for eternity.
He never did.
Those words, he didn't say them.
And when you couldn't stand it anymore, you had to leave. Because had you done otherwise, you would have ended up dying from that terrible pain that each day tore you apart.
Each one of those nights you had spent going with him trough hell – alone but together, together but alone -, each one of those nights you had waited for him to ask that question again. But the words never left his lips.
Each one of those nights, even if he never asked you, you kept on whispering 'yes' with your head buried in your pillow.
You kept on answering the unasked question even after you had left.
Every night, every night as you cried yourself to sleep, every night as you hit your head against the wall, every night as you cut deeper and deeper trying to feel something other than the emotional suffering that was consuming you violently, every night the last word to escape your lips before the sleeping pills kicked in was 'yes', the answer to a question you hadn't been asked in such a long, long time.
A year has passed since the last night you spent alone, in a cold apartment you couldn't call home, with your arms all bruised and a splitting headache torturing you, with your dreams destroyed and your heart aching so much it hurt every time it beat, with your job being the only thing that kept you kind of sane, the only thing that kept you from stopping the pain on your own terms by committing suicide.
Today, it's been a year since you two reunited.
Today, it's been a year since your lips kissed yours tenderly and passionately in the middle of a hallway at four am in the morning.
Today, it's been a year since you decided to leave behind the only job you've ever done, the job that had torn you apart from him first and then kept you sane when everything around you was doomed to fall apart and you were hurting so much death seemed to be the only way out.
Today, it's been a year since you got back together.
Today, it's been a year since you confessed to him between desperate sobs that you never mailed the divorce papers, that you didn't have the heart to do it, that you simply could not do it, that you had only sent them to him in the first place to see if that could make him see what he had done to you, how much he had hurt you, how everything had been ruined, how something that had been so beautiful and so strong had ended up becoming so fragile. You had thought that if you sent him those papers, he would go back to you, that he would see… When he mailed them back to you with his signature on them, your heart broke. And heartbroken you put them away in a drawer and never looked at them again, for they were his decision to end it all materialized and the bare thought of knowing he had signed them, the bare thought of knowing he hadn't gone back to you when he found out you had filled in for a divorce was enough to have you bleeding.
Today, it's been a year since he found out you were still married to each other.
Today, it's been a year since you fell asleep in his arms again, after such long sleepless nights you never were sure you would survive (but you did, and that is all that matters. You did, because a part of you refused to die without finding out if destiny would reunite you with him again).
People start again all the time when it's important to them.
Today, it's been a year since you two decided to start over new. It's been a year since you decided to leave that all behind and start again.
A year, a year has passed.
It's been a year since he held you in his arms, kissed your eyelids shut and while rocking you to sleep asked you again if you wanted to be his forever, for the rest of both yours and his eternity. It's been a year since you heard those words being whispered again in your ears for the first time in a long time. It's been a year since that question was asked to you again, while his hot breath caressed your neck and his hands drew circles on your stomach. It's been a year since you answered with a 'yes', a simple, little word that meant a lifetime of happiness together, this time without any interruptions.
Every day of this last year, every night before falling asleep with his head on your should and his arms wrapped around your waist, he nuzzled right under your ear and asked that question in a husky tone.
Tonight, everything you need is in your arms. You are holding him, he is holding you tighter than ever, and those eyes that are your universe are looking into yours while his large, warm hands caress your bare back without pause, making goose bumps pop up everywhere every now and then. Your head and his are resting on the same pillow, the tip of your nose slightly caresses the bridge of his, and the air you exhale is the same air he breathes in, making the oxygen sweeter than ever with that combination of your breath and his.
Tonight, the man of your dreams, the man that you are and have always been in love with (madly in love with), is in your arms, just about to fall asleep right after he asked you that question, right after he heard you say 'yes' for what felt like the first and the millionth time, all in one.
He is starting to doze off, and even though you know you should just close your eyes and drift off to sleep as well, you cannot help your self.
This time, this time you are the one doing the asking.
"Tony" you whisper, causing his eyes to shut open ", will you be mine for the rest of our eternities?"
You know he will.
You know he will say yes.
Every time you have asked him this, every time you have felt the need of asking him this, he said yes.
And you know that 'yes' will be forever the answer to that question.
But you need to hear him say it.
You want to hear his sweet, loving whisper.
"Yes"
You hum happily, satisfied, and you close your eyes again ready to succumb to your exhaustion, but he doesn't.
"Michelle"
Your name falling off his beautiful lips causes you to shut your eyes open.
"Ask me again, please?"
"Will you be mine for the rest of our eternities?"
And this time instead of a 'yes' – a simple, yet precious and meaningful yes -, he decides to use a litany of words to show you just how much you mean to him, just how much he adores you, just how much he regrets every single time he hurt you, just how much he wants to be with you forever, just how much he wants to keep you safe and happy forever, just how much he wants to take care of you forever.
He rolls over so he is on top of you now, with his head resting on your chest, his arms circling your waist, the beat of your heart the only sound he can hear, the only sound he wants to hear.
The first of those beautiful words are:
"I will be yours for as long as I live, baby"