His Sonnet XVII part ii
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
He's been hearing it a lot lately.
"By doing none of it. No dinner, no romance, no gifts. We stay here, order a pizza and watch one of your beloved Star War/Trek things."
And try as he might, he can't help but feel it as well.
"May I offer you a consoling hug?"
It's there in every way.
"Do they know they don't stand a chance 'cause you're so great?"
Especially when she has to raise her voice for it.
'Then what the hell, Sheldon?'
He wonders when he'll be able to say it back. He imagined it'll be so easy, like she makes everything else.
Nothing's ever come this easy for him before.
She is the greatest anomaly of his life.
She makes him want, almost willing.
And she makes him afraid and doubtful and selfish, too.
Still he wants to say it back, even if it's only whispers he can manage now.
"Well, I thought, if I have a stroke or a kidney stone, who would I want to share that with?"
Even if it's not her hearing it.
"Penny, all my life, I have been uncomfortable with the sort of physical contact that comes easily to others… But I'm working on it, you know?"
Or when he's alone in his mind.
'Amy…'
He's always left breathless but the clarity it brings is undeniable: Amy is very easy to love.
"Hey, you all right?" His musings got interrupted by the subject of his thoughts, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of him. It's Girlfriend/Boyfriend Sing-along-Night at her place.
"Hm, yeah…" he responded, bringing the cup to his lips.
"It looked like you're thinking pretty hard," Amy sat in front of her harp, getting ready to play.
"Oh, I think about so many things... work, -" 'You,' "- what to get next comic book night, - " 'You,' "- revising my Approved List of Restaurants -" 'You'.
She threw him a smile, the one that lights up her eyes, the same one that assures him it's perfectly fine to have his own thing even while spending time together.
The intro to Sweet Caroline floats in the air. He waited to sing his turn, much like how his heart responds to hers - captivated, consumed, tempered only by his mind whispering, 'Not yet, not yet'.
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Amy looks fondly at the flowers and Sheldon is caught in between a response and keeping quiet because that might be a rhetorical question. Good thing this is Amy and she knows how to fill the spaces that are otherwise awkward or painful if left to themselves.
"I hope Mom likes them. I'm sending these flowers ahead of time," she added, giving the bouquet back to the cashier, along with her credit card.
"You're visiting this weekend?" he asked, checking out all the other blooms on display.
"No, I'll be out there for the rest of the week."
That made him stop. Leonard's just left for the North Sea. Now Amy is leaving, too.
"Come on, Sheldon. It'll just be a week and I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before," she stole a glance back at him before taking her card back.
He didn't say anything so she went on, "You can plan our entire weekend when I come back," she soothed him with a smile.
He briefly thought that a week of not seeing her is a long time, but no. It's not like that. He is not like that. He may not even notice that she's not there at all. He's not known her for very long. It's not like he's never lived without her before. It's not like not seeing her for that long would kill him. Impossible.
A bell rang when he pulled the door on their way out. He imagined the damp and chilly evening mirrors his heart. Again, impossible.
She parked farther down the road and they had to walk awhile. He couldn't understand how the sound of her steps falling in time with his could bring him warmth. A warmth that she took away again when she said, "I'll wait with you until your bus arrives."
He took a breath. They agreed that he'll take the bus after the flower shop. Well, that time he didn't know she'll be away for the rest of the week. He really wanted to ask her to just drive him home only to decide against it at the end. He never wanted to be an inconvenience. Not to her. Never.
They reached the bus stop and no one else was there. There's only a puddle next to where he's supposed to stand. It is a very big puddle and he's sure if he stomps on it, it'll make a big splash. He can spy the moon and the sky in there.
He racked his brain for something because he couldn't possibly send her off like this. Granted, it's just a week. But there are real days between tonight and next week, "Y'know contrary to popular belief, life could not have come from the oceans."
He looked at her then, momentarily blinded by the way the light bounced off the smooth frame of her glasses. She tilted her head a little then swayed her body back and forth, like she's testing her weight on the balls of her feet. She's getting ready to answer.
Meanwhile, all Sheldon can think of is the way the skin on her neck stretches and how the angles of her curves change whenever she moves.
"Oh, I totally agree with that," she said, finally looking at him. "It's because the chemical complexities involved in creating biopolymers in water has led some scientists to speculate that shallow pools on land, like that big puddle right there, were actually the most likely location for early life."
There were too many words and so little space between them that if he really wants to know how warm her cheeks would feel in his hands, he's sure it'll take him no time at all. But when Amy gets like that, like she knows exactly what's on his mind even before he says it, sparks run along his spine and his heart raps in his chest like he's been given something he's wanted for a very, very long time.
He gulped, swallowing the feelings down. He looked away, except he knows there's no hiding from those sharp eyes. He gets the feeling those eyes see far more than he wants them to see - his light, his darkness, the chinks on the walls he put up all those years he spent alone with his mind.
"Yes, that's right," he confirmed. He hears her chuckle and he knows she still got her eyes trained on him. He can feel her tracing along his edges, making sure he's alright.
"I'll call you often," she promised right when the bus began pulling into the stop.
"Okay," he acquiesced, preparing to get on.
"Good night, Sheldon."
"Good night, Amy."
The bus pulls away, leaving the puddle, the moon, and Amy behind.
AN: Whoah, at long last, the verses are complete! I'm so happy! Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda, translation by Stephen Mitchell. I hope you had a great holiday! I wish you good health and bright days ahead!
That science fact is from Nature . com, a podcast dated 09.12.2020.
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