Hand

Daniel sat at the table, the moment seemingly lasting forever, the very second she arrived. They were meant to be together, hopefully the word 'forever' featuring, despite his understanding of the way things worked.

He appreciated her, the way she spoke, the words she used, her small little smiles when he knew that she’d thought of something funny and, especially, the way she rushed to tell him that very singular thought. She was smart, the kind of woman that you’d want to listen to for hours. She had her head screwed on straight, level, the quirks of life somehow never managing to knock her sideways into that place he’d escaped a fair few times.

He desired her, the way she dressed, conservatively at times, the slack jim-jams the next day, with the adventurous side appearing when she felt that inner need to do so. Her own soul, her own mind, the days and nights never scripted or acted as if they were within a play of someone else’s words. She was, above all, that mighty flame that easily lit his fire in each and every single way.

He wanted her, to be around him, near him, anywhere but away from his side. She would walk in and his sanity would leave the building. He could fly, truly float into the clouds, whenever she even remotely looked his way. He wasn’t the type of man to run with ideals of fantasy or a heart’s theft, but this was all it was meant to be. If she gave him a ladder, he’d climb for her. If she were a pool of her own raw emotion, he’d gladly swim until she begged him to stop.

He wished for her; those wishes that mean the world to him. Her success, her health, for her sanity and more. Nearly all his thoughts, words, no matter the subject, reminded him that he had somewhere to be, wishes to be made and more. This was a love affair that defied all wishes and wants. If she were a genie, trapped within her worldly lamp, he’d gladly caress the lamp until she managed to be free. Each of the three wishes, simply, easily, asking for her choices to be her own.

He missed her, in the ways that scribes had mentioned throughout the histories of man. She wasn’t his Eve, as Eve was made from Adam and that, to him, simply would not do. She was the Lilith within his world, that equal, the greater half of the two becoming one. Whenever apart, he’d mourn the seconds that escaped his grasp, the precious seconds that could have been spent by her side. The creed, that greed, the connection between the two becoming something more than the wanton norm.

He romanticised her, the thoughts and expressions written firmly across his very actions. The way he looked at her, noticed her, dreamt about her, becoming his waking moments. He never thought that he’d reach a place such as this, the unravelling of learned behaviours, to be replaced with lucid actions and meaning. He had no plan without her, no vision, the understanding suddenly lacking without her gaze. He’d lost himself within, finding the release and freedom never once felt before. That swooning feeling, that of a starry-eyed fool, gladly allowing his heart to be removed.

He understood her, realising that any man would gladly become the very essence of the word, ‘man’, when confronted by such a presence. He’d laugh, mock himself, for thinking this way but it was of no use. Beside every single man, stood a woman that he’d gladly give himself for. He was lucky, one of the few, to be connected in such a way. She felt the same, the idol upon her pedestal removed, to ensure they both remained grounded.

He appreciated, desired, wanted, wished, missed and knew her. The time taken to listen, to reply, to appreciate her inner-working heart, soul and mind, brought the realisation that no matter what happened, no matter the situation or setting, he simply, easily, would live every single second again as long as he could, always, that forever, just hold her hand.

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