CLEAR AND BRIGHT

Introduction : A TALE OF TWO

It's a tale of two people. I don't know where it's going. There may be laughter, there may be tears. I make no promises. IA make no apologies. I'm following no rules. I'm doing it my way, and theirs, I suppose. This is their tale, she's telling it to me. I'm telling it to you through her eyes and her voice.

                                                                                            ~Chloe

                                                      ~ ~ ~

Chapter 1 : IN AN INSTANT

                                                                                  

I almost didn't notice him there, watching me. I was rushing, running impossibly late. I was never late, not to anything. Today, however, time seemed to be rushing too. Right past me. It's as if I was frozen, unable to move, while everything swirled around me.

Perhaps notice him isn't quite right. I didn't actually see him. I felt him. I felt his penetrating stare. It was searing straight through me, literally stopped me cold, right in the middle of the street. I didn't have to look for him. I knew exactly where he was, I felt him that strongly.

It was the briefest second before our eyes met. Those eyes. Those beautiful, soul stealing eyes. I was lost in them. I was lost in him. I was completely unaware of where I was, what was happening around me. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. Nothing existed but those eyes. Nothing, that is, until I felt his arms around me. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Still, like I was, in the middle of that damn street. Time wasn't standing still, though. It could only have been seconds. Seconds before he was there, seconds before I was in his arms, being whisked out of the perilous path that my frozen state had left me in. That he had left me in. His eyes. Those eyes.

It didn't matter who he was, this man. I was his. I knew it. He knew it. His eyes had told me. Those eyes. He hadn't spoken. He hadn't touched. He hadn't even moved. He had merely looked at me, although intently, and I was his.

He looked at me now, with those eyes. They held me, as his arms held me, but stronger. He hadn't let go. I was out of harm's way, but still he hadn't released me from his gaze or his grasp. I was glad. I was thrilled. I was overcome. I didn't want to be released. I was his.

He still hadn't spoken, not a sound, but it didn't matter. I wouldn't have heard him. The only sound in my ears was that of my furiously thundering heart. Or was it his? Ours? I couldn't be sure, of anything, except that my life was changed in an instant by this man and those eyes.

That was how we met.

                                                      ~ ~ ~

Chapter 2 : FIRST SPOKEN WORDS

He unfurled his arms from around me, and took the smallest step back. NO!, I screamed inside my head. The ache I felt from the loss of his touch was immediate, irrational, a burning fire put out. I didn’t want it put out. I needed it. I needed him. I didn’t have to suffer long. He took mercy on me, as if he had heard my silent scream.

He looked into my eyes with his, those eyes, and held out his hand.  “Come” was all he said.

This was his first spoken word to me, the first time I heard his beautiful voice. It was a single word, yet I felt as if I’d just heard the most beautiful song my ears could fathom. I gasped at the broken silence. He smiled at me, a knowing smile. He knew the effect he was having on me.

“Come”, he said again. It wasn’t a request. He spoke softly, but his soft command was not to be refused, not by me.

I placed my shaking hand in his, electricity shooting through me as we reconnected. Was there no sense that this stranger didn’t control in me? I feel a moment of alarm for the first time. Stranger… but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Beautiful stranger, I tried to rationalize, as if this would make him known to me. It didn’t, of course it didn’t. I knew this, knew it in my muddled head. I knew I should not go with this man, this man with his eyes and his voice and his fiery touch that had taken control of me. I knew. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. I couldn’t.

I let him lead me, my meeting forgotten. She would understand. It was business, but she was my friend, and she was a hopeless romantic. I was the sensible one. I was, until today. Was I still? My whole life has been careful, sensible, controlled by ME. Certainly this man could not have changed all of that in an instant?

The only thing I did in my life that was irrational was my paintings. They weren’t always, but sometimes images were born from my brush that couldn’t be explained. I get lost in my painting. I don’t think. Time disappears. The world disappears. The canvas speaks to me, calls to me, answered by my brush. I let it guide me. Now I was letting him. Was it the same? No, how could it be? My painting was safe, even if the images sometimes startled me, they came from somewhere inside of me.

Was this man safe? How could I know? I should pull away. I shouldn’t go with him. He has spoken a mere two words to me, the same words, words of command… but I can’t pull away. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be rational. I don’t want to be sensible. I don’t want to be in control. 

I leave my hand in his, trusting this beautiful stranger, because I have no will to do otherwise. He seems to know this quite absolutely. He walks slowly, with me silently by his side. He glances at me often, with those eyes that brought us here, as we walk along. His eyes do not frighten me, despite all of their power over me. I tell myself that if there were danger, I would see it there. I would sense it, wouldn’t I?

He glances at me again, and I hold his gaze. He stops walking, staring into my searching eyes. Does he know what I’m searching for? He doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t look away. His eyes are endless depths of deep brown, almost black. They’re stunning, those eyes, my captors. I search and search, but find nothing to change my current course.

He senses this, and smiles a reassuring smile at me that makes me instantly forget what I was searching for. Yet again, he utters a single word, “Come”, and resumes our walk. I oblige, of course I do.

I want to talk to him. I want him to talk to me. I want to hear the sound of him, his song of a voice. I want to ask him where he is taking me. I want to ask him his name. I want to ask him if he’s planning to cut me into pieces and strew my parts in a field in the middle of nowhere. What? Where the hell did that come from? Maybe I am afraid. Maybe he hasn’t completely taken over my senses. A shiver runs through me, and he stops again.

He looks at me cautiously, concern suddenly erupting in his eyes. He turns slightly, so that we are facing each other. He takes one small step closer to me, just short of contact, and whispers “Don’t be afraid.”

Three words. Three more words from him, my beautiful stranger, and my sudden moment of anxiety falls away. I am his to lead.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Chapter 3 : NEED

                                          



We’ve been walking silently, with the exception of his few words. We’ve been stealing glances, he as often as I. My hand feels warm in his, and small. I feel the tremble, certainly he must feel it too. I feel the moisture, and although he must as well, he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s something else, something I can’t describe. Excitement? Anxiety? Insanity? I’m not insane, although some might disagree, given my current state of recklessness. Intrigue? That’s putting it mildly. Nothing seems to fit quite right. Nothing, except for my hand in his. His grasp is firm, yet gentle. Electric, yet comforting. He holds it with calm purpose, yet I sense something else coming from him. Through his calm exterior, bits of desperation seep through. It’s as if he is afraid of something. What could he possibly fear from me? I’m the one that should be…

My thoughts are interrupted when he stops. I look questioningly at him, and he simply says “We’re here.” 

He’s stopped us at what I’m sure is his apartment. My heart begins to race as I realize this. Where did I think he was taking me? I didn’t think at all, I suppose, but I wasn’t expecting this. Alone. Alone with this beautiful stranger who has made me unrecognizable to myself in an instant. Or am I? I hear her now, the voice of sensible me: NO, NOT ALONE.

His hold on my hand grows instantly firmer, it’s as if he’s heard her too, and is afraid I’ll run from him. “Please?”, his song of a voice asks.

I start to utter a response, of what I’m not sure, when he looks pleadingly into my eyes and whispers “Please let me show you something? I need you to see.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His voice is so beautiful, and so gentle in his plea. Can I deny him? See? See what? My head is spinning, yet my hand lies firmly in his. I never even tried to pull it free. Did my body answer him, although my mind has yet to decide? I don’t want to let go, I don’t want to run, but surely he could have taken me somewhere else? Anywhere else… but this place. His place. What did he want to show me? Need. He said need. What does he need me to see?

I’m listening. I hear nothing. Where is she? HELLO? A little help here? Complete silence. Great. Sensible me has left me alone. Alone with him. Damn her. She’s probably in my studio organizing my brushes, while I’m here facing the greatest moment of indecision of my life. Her incessant need for order, although usually appreciated, is at this moment highly inappropriate to me.

I take a deep breath and look up at him. He’s still looking at me, watching me, waiting for my reply. His eyes, those eyes, are so tender that I feel myself soften. Melt. He said need, and I see it. I see it there in his unwavering gaze.

 My voice is small, barely a whisper. “Okay”, I hear myself say, “show me.”

The relief that floods over him nearly takes my legs from under me. I know suddenly, and with absolute clarity, that I have nothing to fear from him. He won’t hurt me. His smile lights up his entire face. No, this doesn’t describe what I see. His smile lights up EVERYTHING. The universe is bathed in light, his joy that palpable. It takes my breath away. I don’t understand. What could I have done to bring about such a reaction?

We’re moving, he’s leading me to this thing he needs me to see. He releases my hand to retrieve his keys from his pocket, and opens the door. When he retakes my hand in his, I am stunned. HE IS SHAKING. What? Why? He pulls me inside and closes the door behind me. 

 My mouth falls open in pure and utter disbelief.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Chapter 4 : CHOICES

Where did he? How did he? Why does he? Me? Me. It's me I see. My face. Everywhere. It's all around me. Paintings. A veritable gallery. Of me.

"Ive looked everywhere for you", I hear him say quietly from behind me.

I do not reply. I do not speak. I do not make a sound. I am stunned into silence by what's before me, surrounding me.

I'm suddenly filled with a sense of sorrow. I recognize one. I know it. I know it well. I know who. I know the story behind the image. I know what it represented. To the artist. To him. It's my face, confused contemplation visible in every feature. It's blurred around the edges, focus diminishing, as if you can actually see it moving backwards. A haze covers it in the slightest subtle way. He was talented. His brush held brilliance, fueled to life by his hand, fed by his deep and ever pensive mind.

Alex. My Alex. My anguished love. He said he was losing me. I was slipping away from him. Fading, like something loved, but not protected from harsh elements. He was the harshest element. His love, meant to pull me close, pushed me out of his reach. That was what he said. His words, again and again. I loved him. I did. I tried. I did. He was troubled, so very troubled. He had demons inside of him, anger, rage, sorrow. For so long, he didn't let them touch me, touch us, but they were there. They consumed him. Some I knew of...

He never got over his father's death. Never came to terms with the loss of that man he loved so much. Never forgave his mother for the choices she made after. Alex was an American, moved to Paris by his mother and her romantic dreams. He didn't want to leave his home. He didn't want to leave his father behind, all of the memories of him. She was cold. She was selfish. She shed no tears for her husband, the man who loved her, the man who had given her everything. She gave her son no comfort, no compassion. She didn't help him heal. She ripped him from everything he knew, every comfort he might find in his home. He had lost the most important person in his life, with no warning, no goodbye. His father was taken from him suddenly, tragically. His life as he knew it was forever changed, and she took everything he had left in much the same way. He hated her for that. I'm not sure she noticed. If she did, she didn't seem to care. She cared about herself. She cared about things. She cared for the countless men who left their scents on her pillows. They never stayed long. She blamed her son for that. They didn't leave because of him. They left because she had nothing to offer them. They left because she was shallow, selfish, and greedy. They left because a whore's bounty is quickly pillaged.

She didn't like me. She didn't want me in his life. She didn't like the changes she saw in him, although it shocked me that she saw them at all. He was happy. Well, he was happier. His painting brought him peace. I brought him joy. His words, said so often. I loved him, he knew I did. It took him time to believe it, that anyone could, but he accepted it eventually. I wanted to help him heal. I wanted him to see what I saw, how special he was. I gave him everything I could. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted too much. He needed too much. Me. He needed me too much. It suffocated me. It frightened me. I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but there was something that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. Something dark. It was as if he wanted to consume me. His love for me was changing. Changing him. Changing us. I tried to talk to him, make him understand. He needed to understand that he was scaring me. I tried. He didn't hear me. He showed me the painting, told me it's story. I told him it didn't have to be that way. He didn't have to lose me, watch me fade... he didn't hear that, either. He got worse. I got more frightened. I had given all I could to this troubled young man. I gave him my heart. He wanted my soul. I couldn't give him that. I left. I had to. For me.

I never knew about the other paintings. These paintings that surround me now in my beautiful stranger's apartment. He had painted me many times, but these... he must have done them after I left. They seemed to be a series, beginning with that one he had shown me. Each one more unfocused. Each one a different, more distant expression. Each one farther and farther from his reach. Oh, Alex. My heart breaks as I look at his pain. The last image cuts. It's like the others, only my face is barely visible, so far away. There's a hand reaching towards me... As an artist, it's breathtaking. As the subject, how can I put into words the pain I feel for him? I can't. There are none.

I've been looking at these paintings long enough to know their intended order. This is not the way they are displayed here. They are completely reversed. It is now that I realize that the hand reaching for my disappearing figure is not the last. Next to it is a simple canvas of black, covered in a subtle, foggy haze. Simple? No, it's anything but simple. It's tragic. Although I know I shouldn't, I step closer to see the date in the bottom corner. My heart stops. Tears well in my eyes. No. Please, no. I know this day, this terrible day. Alex painted this darkness on the day he took his own life.

I can't feel my legs. I can't breathe. The pain is consuming me. He is taking from me what I wouldn't give him. I don't want to give it now. It isn't my fault. She blamed me. Is this why? That wretched woman! She didn't even cry for him, her lost son. I cried. I cried for him. I cried until the tears would no longer come. I'm crying for him now. His hurt. His pain. His demons. His loss. His desperation. His fight. His surrender. He surrendered. I'm not responsible for that. My heart breaks to know that his thoughts were of me on his final day, but I can't carry that blame. He made a choice. I couldn't save him.

I reach out, I don't even know for what. I need something, something to hold onto. He is there. Of course he is. He's been standing somewhere behind me, giving me time. How long have I been standing here? How long have I been lost in this onslaught of painful memories from the past? These new wounds formed with new knowledge? Has he spoken? No, I'm sure he hasn't. Not since... what was it that he had said? I hear his words as if he is speaking them now ... I've looked everywhere for you... I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. No, he won't consume me. The past won't consume me, I won't let it. He made his choice. I have to make mine. Forward. I want to go forward.

I turn slowly. He's so close. My heart starts beating again. Beating hard. It's almost painful, but I like it. It means I'm alive. It means I can feel. I see sorrow in his eyes. For me. He knows he has caused me pain, but I had to see. He needed me to see. I trusted him to show me. I'm glad sensible me left me alone. I see now. He waits patiently. He knows I'm going to speak. Does he know what my words will be? Do I? Yes. I know.

I reach up with both hands, and gently touch the corners of his down turned mouth. I want him to smile. I want to make him smile. Looking into his eyes, with a smile of my own, I say simply ...

"You found me."




                                                     ~ ~ ~




Chapter 5 : CLEAR AND BRIGHT

A smile spreads across his face, a smile for me. A smile for us. There will be an us. There is an us. We're already here.

He reaches up and wipes what's left of my tears from my face, his fingertips like gentle flames against my cheeks, soothing me in every sense. "I did. Finally. I don't have to search anymore. You're here."

The relief in his voice fills something in me. I thought I was whole. Is it possible that a person can fill an emptiness in us we don't know is there? His words do this to me now.

He takes my hand in his, and turns me back to the source of my tears. "I don't ever want to cause you pain. I don't want to see hurt in your eyes. I want you to cry tears of joy, not sorrow. Your face, this face that has haunted my days and nights for so long, is so much more beautiful than he portrayed. He loved you, I can see that, but he didn't see you clearly. I know there is a story here, a story of one man's loss. I know his unspoken words have caused you pain, but I would like you to hear those words now the way I hear them. It was, for him, a tale of regret. I can't blame him for that, how could he not regret losing you?"

I interrupt him now, with a few questions of my own, "How could you know that I'm someone worth trying to keep? Someone you wouldn't want to lose? Surely you can't know that from painted images of my disappearing face?"

My words silence him momentarily. He seems to be considering his response, as he looks again to the paintings that he must have committed to his memory. I wonder how long he has had them here? How long has he been searching for me? The me he has created for himself. What is she like? Is she anything like me? Can I ever even hope to compare to his imagined version?

He doesn't look at me when he speaks, he seems lost in the images before him. "I was drawn to your face instantly, I don't deny that. I will never lie to you. These are empty words to you now, but you will learn their truth in time. We have time." He smiles as he says this, content in his belief. "You see, Claire, for me your face isn't disappearing."

I gasp at his use of my name, but he only winks at me. This simple gesture renders me a puddle of mush. How can I be so affected by him? I have never been that girl. I don't get butterflies and goosebumps and wobbly knees. I don't!

I hear her now, sensible Claire. She's laughing at me. You didn't, she corrects.

She's starting to get on my nerves, but she has brought me back to solid form. I'd like to push her into the mush puddle that now lies beside me. Focus, Claire! How does he know my name? I'm about to ask him, when I see his amused expression hovering over me. Crap. Either I was actually talking to myself, or he knows about the puddle he created. Is that a smirk on his face? Yes. Definitely a smirk. He definitely knows about the puddle. Smug bastard. I stick my tongue out at him. Immature? Yes. Gratifying? Absolutely.

He laughs, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Crap. I return to my previously mushy state. That didn't take long. My face is betraying me, it must be, partners with my traitorous legs and thumping heart.

Once again, he knows exactly what he's done to me. He laughs again, and leans in to whisper in my ear, "You're adorable."

No one has ever called me adorable before, it surprises me. I'm too serious for adorable.

You used to be, I hear in my head.

Oh goody, miss smarty pants is still here. How is it I've never heard her before? She's always there, a part of me, but she's never spoken to me until today.

That's because I didn't need to UNTIL TODAY! 

What? She's yelling at me now? I don't care. She can yell all she wants, he thinks I'm adorable. This makes me far happier than it should. When did I become such a girl?

I know she's about to say something, so I cut her off. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but could I please have a glass of water or something? I'm feeling a bit out of sorts."

A look of irritation crosses his face, and he says "Of course, I've been a terrible host. Please forgive me." He leads me across the large expanse of a room, to intricately etched glass doors that open onto a balcony. There is a lovely courtyard below, and I find myself wondering if he spends much time there. "Perhaps a bit of fresh air will help", he says as he pulls out a chair from the wrought iron table. "Relax, I'll be right back."

Relax? Easy for him to say. I may have noticed bits of cautiousness or desperation in him before, but that's all gone now. Getting me here was what frightened him, that I might say no, but now that he's accomplished that he is confident. My puddles left in the other room only add to it, I'm sure.

Perhaps I am starting to relax. I think it's being out here, a mix of fresh, cool air and being away from the 'gallery of me'. He wants to explain it to me, tell the story in his words, and I want to hear it. I want to see something other than pain in those images, see what he sees.

My thoughts jump to Nadine, my friend and forgotten lunch meeting. Why hasn't she called me? She should be worried sick that her responsible, sensible, always-on-time-and-courteous-enough-to-call-if-I'm-going-to-be-later-than-15-minutes-early, friend has stood her up! My bag is inside, where I deposited it when we came in.

As if he's read my mind, my beautiful stranger appears with arms full. I'm going to ask him his name if I can focus, I swear I am. In one hand he holds a tray with 2 bottles of Perrier, 2 glasses of ice, and a plate of bread, cheese and fruit. In the other, he has a blanket and my bag. I jump up to help him, but he waves me off with a flourish of his tray-holding hand. Maybe he's waited tables before, or maybe still does, it's not like I know anything about him.

"You missed lunch", he says, sitting the tray down on the table.

My eyes on his other hand bring his next words "It's a bit chilly, I don't want you to be cold." He drapes the blanket lightly over me, and hands me my bag, adding "It was ringing. You were rushing somewhere before... perhaps someone is worried?" His expression no longer bears the confidence it had a few moments ago. Has it just occurred to him that I may be attached? Had he not considered this before?

I smile at him, and say "I wouldn't have gone with you if there was that kind of someone to worry."

Oh, there's that beautiful smile again. I'm grateful to be sitting this time, my traitorous legs rendered useless against me. I pull my phone from my bag. Nadine has called me 3 times, and texted me twice. I guess I didn't hear it. Okay, she was worried. Shamed with guilt, I type a quick text letting her know that I'm okay, apologizing for standing her up, and telling her that my explanation will, without any doubt, make her forgive my rudeness. I hit send, knowing that it will drive her mad with curiosity, but that she will wait to hear from me.

He's waiting politely, watching me. "Thank you, you didn't have to go to so much trouble", I say finally.

"It was no trouble at all. I'm sure I've quite disrupted your day, though I'm not at all sorry for that", he replies with a cheshire cat grin.

Mercy. Mush, mush, mush. Focus, Claire. I take a sip of my Perrier, and find my voice.  "I know I interrupted you before, and I want to hear the story you want to tell me, but I think it's only fair that I know your name first." Finally. Now he just has to answer.

"More than fair", he says, "Jaimin. It is my honor to finally meet you, Claire. My words are more sincere than you know."

I beam at him. I can't help myself. I believe him. As crazy as it seems, I know his finding me today has filled a tremendous longing in his life. He has had my face covering his walls, a dream of some sort, and now finally has me here.  What I don't know is if I will disappoint him, and the idea of me he has created in his mind. Oh, I hope not. I want to know. I need to know. I have to keep him talking. "Thank you" is all I can muster, then add "Please continue. I won't interrupt again, I promise."

He slides the plate he has so thoughtfully prepared closer to me, "You eat, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Are you warm enough?"

I nod my response, and pop a grape into my mouth like an obedient child.

"Adorable", he says again with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Perhaps I have found a way to affect him too. Although not my intention, I'll take what I can get.

I am instantly mesmerized as he begins. "He painted you in a progression of loss. I understand how deeply he must have felt this loss, his vision brought to life vividly on the canvas. His pain is clear, moving. You were retreating from him, at least he felt you were. You were fading, farther and farther away until you were gone, leaving him with darkness.

You referred to it as your disappearing face. This is what I want you to understand, Claire. From the first image of you, he painted you in a fog. He didn't believe you were his. Maybe he didn't think he was worthy, maybe he was too unsure of himself to really see you. I don't know, and I don't mean in any way to make light of his emotional struggle. I know only that he was a troubled young man, who lost his fight with the darkness inside of him. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for him, and I'm sorry for you.

I saw your pain today, you cared for him a great deal. Whatever happened between you, whatever caused him to lose you, it has brought you here. I'm not sorry for that. I'm too selfish, and I've waited too long. I was captivated by that face, with it's different expressions. Confusion. Trepidation. Fear. Sadness. I didn't know if those feelings were yours, or just what he thought he saw reflected back at him. I wanted to know. I wanted to know you. I wanted to see you in light, not the endless fog. I wanted to know your face, understand your expressions for myself.

I've waited for you. I've been living in darkness waiting for you. As you saw, I've arranged your face as a progression of focus and light, each clearer than the last. You were coming closer to me. Closer, and closer, but always out of my reach until today. This is the final image. You. What I see before me now. No haze, no fog. Certainly you must know the meaning of your name. 'Clear and bright' That is what you are, Claire. I've had to see you in a fog for all of this time. My world exploded with light the second I saw your face today, and now you are here. You are right here with me, and you are clear, and you are bright, and you are beautiful.

You asked me how I could know you're someone I wouldn't want to lose... I'm not sure I can explain it to you. I only know that I've lived my life without you until today, and that life was empty. I don't feel empty now. You are here, and the emptiness is gone. I don't know anything about you, except for your name, and the fact that someone loved you and lived in darkness and pain from the loss of you. I've searched for you for a long time. I searched every street, every cafe, every museum and shop. I searched every place there is to look for a person, the person who would make everything bright. I knew I would find you if I just kept looking. You're no longer out of my reach. I can see you. I can smell you. I can reach out and touch you."

I am so moved by his words, that tears have begun to stream down my face.

"Please don't cry", he says softly, as he reaches out to wipe them away once again. "That isn't what I wanted. I just don't want you to go. I know it must seem crazy to you, and maybe it is. I live surrounded by you, with only your face and the knowledge of your name. Okay", he laughs, "that definitely sounds crazy, but I don't want you to be afraid. I could never hurt you. I just want to know you. I'm asking you for that chance. The fact that you're here gives me hope."

"There's something between us. I know you feel it. You felt it on the street, before you knew any of this. You feel it now, your tears prove that. I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. There will be days I'll irritate you, and days I'll infuriate you. The only promises I can make to you is that I will be kind. I will laugh with you. I will support you and comfort you. I will talk to you and I will listen to you. I will share with you all that I have. I will give you more than I ever ask from you. I will adore you and protect you, and I will never, ever lie to you. This is what I can offer you, for now. Can you take a chance, Claire? For me? For us?"

I want to answer him, but when I open my mouth, no sound comes out. I want to throw myself into his arms, but if ever I was mush, it is now. My legs would certainly fail me, just as my voice has. I don't want him to misunderstand. I'm not afraid. I'm not confused. I don't need time to think. I'm not going anywhere. I want to know him, too. I reach my arms out to him, hoping he will know the meaning of my helpless gesture.

He knows. Of course he does. He is on his feet and lifting me into his arms in an instant. It feels right, more than anything I've ever felt.

This day began for me in a hectic whirl. It continued in a blur of senses and emotions, but now... here... everything is clear and bright.