Villa di Marlia, Lucca: A Fountain John Sargent Sargent (American; 1856–1925) 1910 Translucent watercolor and touches of watercolor and wax resist with graphite underdrawing Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts
Hey... so, I know we had a big talk AGES ago about how we would never use this mind link thing unless absolutely necessary, and maybe it's jumping to conclusions by doing this, but... you haven't been at school. Which is odd because you almost never miss school, and there's this huge project we have due for English and you haven't been here to help with it. So what's going on? Where are you?
We lay in that dark, college dorm room together, late that night. His fingers still smelt like the weed he rolled into joints to sell earlier, but it didn’t matter as they traced circles against my skin. I was so oblivious in that moment, just breathing deeply, breathing his scent in as he breathed in mine. It seemed like the quiet held us in this infinite limbo, as if this moment really could last forever, it gave me this false sense of security, ya know? Like he’d be there forever. I would have sworn on it in that moment, swore on my life that he’d be everlasting. “Talia?” he whispered to me, whispered against the skin of my shoulder, his breath falling against my skin like the cascade of emotions his words held. “Yeah, Roe?” I crooned back, looking over at him with an adoring smile and wonder filled eyes. His smile mirrored mine, as his lips parted almost lethargically, our bodies moving just as slowly, drunk on each other’s presence, “I’m really glad you like me."He said it in such a way that almost broke my heart, a child-like admittance that spoke volumes to me. Those few words resignated with me and I simply looked at him for a moment, drinking in everything about him, about that singular moment. ”And I can’t find a single reason not to,“ I murmured with a nod. That heavy feeling in my muscles set in, and by the way his eyelids drooped, it was setting into his too. ”Stay with me tonight?“ I half inquired, half pleaded. Our limbs so wrapped around each others, I wasn’t quite sure we’d be able to untangle, even if we wanted to. A simple kiss was his response, a kiss, a smile, and his arms pulling me closer into his chest, his content sigh stirring my locks, as was his style. He had always been a man of action, rather than words. Whenever he could he communicated with me through these simple gestures, for in some odd way he knew that was what I needed. To feel him and his emotions, not just hear them. I had never felt more content in my life, wrapped around this man that meant everything to me. My mind screamed ”I LOVE YOU“ but my sleepy lips simply laid a kiss against his skin, communicating the emotion loud and clear. That was the last thing I remember, that… And a bleary memory of a phone ringing in the very late hours, his gruff, sleep laden voice answering curtly, and me rolling over and falling back asleep.
That morning I woke up and he was gone. And I wouldn’t see or hear from him for six long years.
All I could think as I lay in my bed some nights later, missing him, was ”I should have told him I loved him.“
And now? Now I’ll tell him every day. I love you Roe, I love you, I love you, I love you.