Soulmates

Chapter 1: Soulmates


Written by:
Summer Snow
Last updated:
2003-04-17 00:00:00
Without you, I would not have loved
And I would have lived in vain.


From the house, one could see the vast expanse of merry green dotted with melancholy blue, and amongst these he sat, knees propped up, sketchbook in hand, deep in thought.

She smiled. It was a comforting sight, a cherished memory. His back to her, the wind gently teasing his ruffled dark hair, his hunched form as he began to sketch... all these formed the him that she loved and couldn’t live without, the him who taught her so much about life, yet said so little about himself.

Art was previously the only window to his soul. How small that window had been. She had pushed at it, until he relented, and opened a little more of himself to her, let her into his inner world, as she had let him into hers.

She didn’t ask for much. So long as she knew he loved her, it was enough. There were times when silence between them was the best form of communication, times when tender glances sufficed, times when a deep hug said all that needed to be said. She knew, understood, accepted, never asked for more.

Now, she stepped into the vast green, towards him, towards the one she loved. He straightened. He could always sense her coming, no matter the amount of stealth. Just as he knew her imminent presence, he also knew what she was going to do, about to say, once she came near.

He turned. Their gazes locked. He smiled a little. Her eyes sparkled at the love in his eyes, knew that he welcomed her presence. She settled down behind him, circled her arms round his waist, brought him close, leaned her cheek against his strong, sturdy back, and smiled into his shirt.

He set the sketchbook down onto the grass, took her hands in his, pressed them gently. She entwined her fingers with his, feeling his callus skin brush her smoother one, feeling that sense of love, warmth, peace and security that only he could arouse in her.

"Love you," she whispered into his shirt.

He disentangled their fingers, stretched hers out, lovingly traced the outline of her hands with his index finger. She smiled again as she felt the words on her palms.

"Love you too," he’d written.

She peeked around to see his sketchbook. “What have you drawn?”

He turned his face to her, a questioning look in his eyes. She nodded. He handed the sketchbook to her. She settled herself in his embrace, his arms now around her waist, his head rested on her shoulder, and they looked through the sketchbook.

The deep blue sea with its vibrant, lashing waves, framed against the backdrop of gently sloping cliffs, exuded golden hues of the setting sun, reflecting the wild untamed beauty of nature.

"Scotland," she whispered, pleased. "We created a lot of memories there."

He smiled. She turned to face him, and he touched his lips to hers. She dropped the sketchbook, wrapped her arms around him, kissed him back.

Subtlety was the key to understanding his emotions. He knew she understood, he loved her for that. She was his better half, she complemented him, completed him, filled him with her love. Her capacity to heal touched his wounded heart and gave him the greatest gift she could.

They broke apart. Her eyes were bright with tears. She hugged him hard, almost crushed him, but she knew he understood, wouldn’t blame her for it, would know her extent of love for him was immeasurable, forever.

"You like it," he said, his voice a warm caress against her smooth hair.

"I do," she answered. "I like everything that you’ve drawn." She released him, said seriously, "I like everything about you too."

She was arrested by the tenderness in his dark eyes. He smiled, smoothed her hair away from her face, tucked a stray strand behind her ear, caressed her cheek gently with his fist, kissed her again, this time with inexplicable raging passion that bound her to him.

They broke apart again. She wrapped her arms around him, rested her head against his shoulder. She saw the picture of Scotland, and the words inscribed at the bottom of the page:

Without you, I would not have loved
And I would have lived in vain.


His arms were still around her, his head on her shoulder, his eyes closed as if sleeping peacefully.

But a tear slid down her hot cheek, and she began to weep.

© Summer Snow, 2001-2003



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