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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1720970-The-Journey
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by Rose Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Non-fiction · Romance/Love · #1720970
A personal romantic struggle within.
         With a quick intake of breath she opens her eyes, realizing suddenly that they were closed and a smile is spread across her face. She knows he had been watching her, witnessing the emotions as they flittered over her face, but there is no way to know exactly what he is thinking. He reaches over the console and places his hand on her knee with a gentle squeeze sending a shudder through her body. Her hand settling on his, she completes the circuit and wills with all her being that her thoughts be known to him through her touch. The world becomes the car and for a single moment everything stands still.
         The dashed lines of the highway blur into an unbroken ribbon of white, stretching out before them and disappearing under the vehicle. Gazing ahead into the twilight she sees him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. His gaze makes her feel alive and this discovery brightens her happiness and her smile widens.
         “What are you thinking about?” he asks.
         You, us, the brightness of the future, god, how I wish you loved me, her mind screams, but she can think of nothing to replace the truth, so awkwardly answers with her eyes lowered in guilt, “Nothing.”
         He inclines his head, obviously a bit incredulous, but doesn’t pry any further. The heaviness of missed opportunity settles in her chest and she quickly turns back to the window, hoping to disguise her anxiety. She struggles to grab on to her happiest memories to drive away the feeling of uncertainty, but all that keeps flooding her mind are thoughts of the night before. His hands on her back, hers on his, pure energy coursing between them. Her heart overflowed, making it hard to breathe while the words of their desperate longing were spoken by every delicate touch.
         She sits completely still, hoping to keep this feeling intact, fearing that any movement might break the current. Slowly she turns to watch him. The dim lights of the dashboard illuminate the car, throwing weak tinges of green and orange across his face. His eyes rest intently on the road, his mouth relaxed in a nonchalant smile, making it seem as if this look of contentment were natural on him and his usual look of anxiety an unbearable chore.
         He catches her staring at him and they look into each other’s eyes. She feels naked before him, all her fears and hopes obvious to him, but there is a wall behind his, blocking her way in. She hurriedly looks down, but instantly regrets breaking the bond that she had just felt. Every moment now is lived in fear of it being the last of its kind. Noticing his hand still resting lightly on her knee, she squeezes it in a desperate gesture, longing for, needing, the evidence of connection, of the reality of both their beings and what it means to them. He returns the movement and she mentally chastises herself.
         Is this love, she wonders, but pushes the thought aside. What does it matter? This moment is happiness and needs to be held onto, clutched to her chest, as long as possible. Suddenly, fear overcomes her as doubt creeps into her mind, a frequent visitor when faced with such a strong feeling of ecstasy. This won’t last, the dirty intruder whispers to her, he will leave you just when you think you have forged a true connection. The tighter you hold onto this feeling, the more it will hurt in the end. She faintly shakes her head in denial, as if the motion will effectively drive away the thoughts.
         The future doesn’t matter at this moment, it doesn’t matter, she repeats to herself, the line almost taking the form of a mantra, and she can feel the tightness leaving her chest. All that matters is, right now, she is happy. If every moment of happiness were lived in fear of the next minute, nothing could be enjoyed. She knows she will have to remind herself of this constantly but in this instant, the thought has served its purpose.
         She turns and rests her head on the window. Her forehead tingles, pressed up against the cool glass, the picturesque Idahoan snowscape slipping away behind them as the pavement flying out from underneath creates a comforting, whirring rhythm. A slight smile rests on her lips while a look of hopefulness twinkles in her eyes.
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