In the Arms of an Angel
It took every caressful second of the evening and dimly lit night. He cried, she listened. She spoke, he cherished.
As the music quieted to songs without tone and only depth, they sat up facing each other, gazing into something they never really knew existed. "Hold me," she said, speaking the simplest of her soul's truth.
Widening his eyes to encompass her entire being took more than a second, but he chose not to move in that instant. Wanting to show her what he saw that had made him cry, made him move, made him die, and made him reborne that night, he raised his right hand. He moved it slowly towards the left side of her chest, but it stopped just short of touching her. Still moving slowly, it turned sideways and moved in a scooping motion and then retracted to a slightly cupped palm facing upwards, as though it was holding something delicate.
With equal grace, his other hand moved over and gently rested on top of the other, also cupped. Pulling them back together, he lowered his lips and rested them close to the base of his two hands. Like a gate parting, the fingertips of his two hands moved apart, almost spout-like. Aiming carefully for the top of her head, he began to blow, slowly moving down her body as though he was holding some kind of magic dust.
Spreading his hands apart, as he had soon reached the bottom of her in that single breath, he almost seemed to look at her in a renewed light. Wrapping one hand around her back and another tucked under her smooth buttocks, he pulled her close to him in such a way that not a single part of their bodies could be missed. He wrapped his arms around her and nestled his head against her shoulder and soft cheek.
What mattered was not that they touched everywhere in that moment, but simply that he was holding her...and she was there.
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