What it means to Love

"I believe in karma. That means I can do bad things to people all day and assume they deserve it." - Dogbert

I got sudden inspiraton today while I was sitting at my laptop. Begging it to become a assignment generator. But instead I wrote out a short story. I shall display my bleeding heart out for the world to read. Remember, its MINE!

What it means to love

The sun is rising. As it does everyday, nothing is different today. Nothing special about this morning. Nothing special at all. The clouds seem to be floating upwards, getting thicker, and looking more like wool than the normal misty shapes they take.

She sat up in bed. The sun rays were coming through the blinds. She gazed to the sleeping form beside her. He was still asleep. His breathing was soft and regular, his brown curls brushed his forehead. She resisted an urge to push them back. Strange, she thought, how a man can look quite so innocent while asleep.

Reaching over to the bedside, she stretched out luxuriously, arching her back slightly, like a cat. A cigarette and a lighter were welcomed into her awaiting hands. She lit up one, inhaled deeply, and resumed her watch.

His chest was moving with every breath he took. He smiled slowly, as if he was about to savour a rich chocolate tart, his lips parted slightly. He needed to shave, she thought. Reaching out, she ran a thumb along his chin, her flesh prickling from the stubble.

Her cigarette was done. She had not even noticed. A long grey tube of ash hung precariously on the edge of the filter. It was like the body of a moth long dead. One puff, and it would disappear, never to be seen again. As if it was never of this earth.

Gently, she placed it in the ashtray, strangely unwilling to destroy it. It seemed so delicate, so helpless. Sliding out of bed, she gave him one sidelong glance and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. One for him too.

Upon returning, she opened her bedroom door. She was immediately greeted by the noxious, toxic, stimulating fumes left by his first three cigarettes of the day. Three cigarettes down, two packs to go. He was awake now, staring out of the window. He had opened the blinds.

He was so intent on the formation of the clouds that he did not notice her return. He had two cigarettes smouldering in an ashtray, and another in his mouth. His face was unreadable. His firm lips were clamped tightly on the cigarette. His mouth grim.

She strolled over, her bathrobe falling open to expose her to the waist. He took his cup, without thanks or acknowledgement. He did not even look up. He never looked at her. She missed the way his eyes used to roam her body, teasing, taunting, daring her. The strong hands that once stroked, and knew every secret curve of her. The mouth that used to whisper the language of love, of promises. Promises now lost, dead and forgotten.

She retied her bathrobe, knotting it tightly. Forcibly. She looked at the clock.

“You’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

He was lost in his thoughts. When was the last time they spoke? He felt as if they had become strangers. She was still as beautiful as the day they met. Has it already been fifteen years? Hazy memories of happier times haunted him. Smiles, laughter, and tears had engulfed their lives then. They were so full of emotions, not the empty shells they were now. She had been so full of life and love. Sometimes, like this morning, when she was so cold, rational, he wondered if they had really happened. Was the past not just one’s perception of it? The same one event as recalled by different people, accounts could vary by so much. He could not even remember what she smelt like.

They always smelt like smoke. They, at least, had that in common.

On opposite sides of the bed, they sat. Together, yet apart. Both of them, lost in the haunting swirls of memories, thoughts and problems of life.

For a while, the only sounds were the sipping of hot coffee, the exhaling of harsh, sweet tobacco smoke and the strained sound of nerves. This was suddenly broken.

“Mummy, daddy…”

A small face peeked in; big childish eyes stared imploringly at them. She stepped into the room, not waiting for a reply. She made her way to the bed, climbing up with too much enthusiasm and with the usual energy of a five year old.

The little girl sat in the middle, looking to the left then to the right. She reached out and grabbed a hand on both sides. Her mouth parted in a smile, her eyes full of hope.

Children are always full of hope. Looking forward to new tomorrows, hopes of the tomorrows bringing new joys, surprises and laughter. But one can be fooled by the perception of children. They see more than they let on.

“I love you, Mummy.”

She paused for a bit, smiling wider, showing off a missing tooth. A dimple danced in her left cheek.

“I love you, Daddy.”

He felt the power of his daughter’s love. Unconditional, deep and pure. He swallowed deeply, cursing the tears that threatened to come. His wife leaned over and kissed his daughter. “I love you,” she echoed.

“I love you too, honey,” he said. Grabbing his little girl, he blew raspberries on her stomach. Giggling, she threw sticky arms around his neck. His daughter kissed him soundly on the mouth. She smelt of sleep, teddy bears and strawberry shampoo. On impulse, he reached out for his wife’s hand.

She was shocked by his touch. But, for a second, she relented, allowing herself to pretend nothing bad had ever happened. Some secret pleasure, something sinful to indulge in. His touch. That they were like how they were before. Before they both had turned so cold. Before they both became so involved in life. In the real world. Releasing the warm, slightly rough hand, she got up.

“Make sure you drop her off at kindergarten before you go to work.”

She was answered by a silent nod. She departed, leaving father and daughter to share their jokes, secret looks and knowing smiles.

They lived together. They lived apart. They lived for love.