A Love that is Mine 9
The first time we met I looked into her eyes and had the strangest
feeling that I had come home.
At the time I had travelled very far and for quite some time, my home
was enemy territory and the location of my family was unknown, although
I thankfully had just been informed that they were alive. The part of
the military that had evacuated my group from the smoking ruins of my
part of the country had quickly packed me up and sent me onward to the
front where I was going to fight whether I wanted to or not. No choice
had ever been given me, and I was scared of what I would find at my
destination.
They had shown me files of the rest of the squadron, with names and
pictures of those currently at the base, but I was too anxious to focus
on them. I clutched my toy, the only piece of the past I managed to
save, to my chest and tried not to feel quite so numb as I was passed
from one type of vehicle to another until finally we had arrived.
I had seen her picture but it did her no justice. The moment I looked up
from the tarmac I looked right into eyes such a dark and stormy
blue-grey that they immediately made me think of rain back home, before
the destruction. I could even hear the sound of gentle raindrops on the
earth when she stepped up to take my hand in hers.
It would take some time before I realized that the sound I heard was
actually the sound of her heart.
She charmed me from the start, and I don't think she meant to. She was,
and is, just so brave and strong and kind and wonderful that to know her
is to love her. I did not think of love back then, it did not occur to
me and I did not know at the time that I was old enough to experience
such things. I did however know from that very first moment that we
belonged together, like two pieces of a puzzle made to fit together
seamlessly.
There was something about her that drew me to her, all the time and
regardless of where she was or what she was doing. It amused me to think
that we were like these tiny magnets I had used to play with when I was
little, how they would immediately snap to one another when I released
them. We were drawn together in much the same way, and although back
then I had no conscious thoughts of romance I did still have a longing
to be that seamless, perfect whole together with her.
She helped me fit in with our comrades and took care of me, and life was
good despite the battles we had to fight and despite that I did not know
where mama and papa where. I grew more confident, stronger and surer in
my abilities, and once our leaders decided that I was strong enough and
skilled enough they began sending me out at night, alone. That I did not
like.
I love the night, but after meeting her I no longer like to be alone. I
want to be with her.
Thoughts of her kept me company when she herself could not, and my
spirit always felt lighter as I returned to base with the early dawn for
I knew she would be there. I would go to her door to press myself
against it and use my abilities to hear and sense her through it. I
would stay like that until the steady sounds of her slumber relaxed me
enough that I too could sleep, and then I would fumble my way over to my
own room and my own solitary bed.
I could not give words to my joy when eventually that door opened to me
and I could lie down next to her. She is so warm, even in the middle of
the coldest night, and I always long with every fibre of my being to
press up against her in whatever way I may, to melt into her.
There were reasons and excuses to begin with, for why I would sleep in
her bed rather than my own. Many times she told me in a voice she
struggled so hard to make exasperated yet never really succeeded, that I
should not mistake her room for my own when I went to bed. Just as I
always knew that she did not mind my presence there at all I am sure she
always knew that I did not find my way to her bed by mistake. Sometimes
it took the very last of my strength to get to her, but it was always my
intention to reach her side.
Eventually, finally, she let me know that the excuses were no longer
necessary. I was let inside her room to stay, and we allowed ourselves
to stop pretending.
From that night onward she has held me close as we sleep, every single
time. With my ear so close to her heart I did not need to use my
abilities, I could clearly hear the wonderful sound of her heartbeat and
together with her breathing it lulls me to peaceful sleep better than
any lullaby ever could.
Since I was a little girl my favourite song was always the one papa
wrote about the rain, but no longer. The sound I treasure most of all is
her beautiful voice, and the most incredible song I know is the sound of
her heart. I hope to hear both for the rest of my life, and one day I
intend to use the piano help me make her hear at least a fraction of
what I do when with her.
A few days after I moved into her room we shared our first kiss. I had
wanted her to kiss me for some time, but did not know how one goes about
initiating such a thing. I have always had difficulty putting words to
my longing, but she understands me anyway.
The first brush of those soft, silken lips changed me. I, who up until
then had been largely oblivious to anything that was not her, I found
myself taking note of my surroundings suddenly, jealously making sure no
one would come too close or be too familiar with her. I also found
myself blushing oddly from her touch or her closeness at times.
Then our group was disbanded and our friends were sent away to places we
were not to follow.
It had never occurred to me that if for some reason our team would be
retired or my specific services no longer needed, I would be taken away.
It never crossed my mind that she would be recalled to her home without
me, and I would be taken somewhere far away in what remains of my
homeland, my opinion of the location as unasked for as before.
Our leader intervened, made the arrangements so that I could continue to
stay with the one that was everything to me. She pulled us aside during
the confusion near the end of our stay at the base and explained it to
us, officially handing me over into the care of my love. She seemed
surprised when I hugged her in thanks, and after that a pair of strong
warm arms wrapped around me, clearly determined not to let me go. I
found I was perfectly happy to leave the base.
Her home, when we reached it, was and is to me like she herself; simply
home. Everything is very similar to where I grew up, and I discovered to
my surprise that I had missed the colder, clearer night skies of the
north. I found myself looking forward to odd little things, like the
scent of pine or the sound of snow crunching under my feet.
Most of all I love her home because it is hers, and because it is I
wished to discover everything about it. She took me to all her favourite
places, showed me where she had played as a little girl and where she
liked to go as she grew older. We would often take walks in the
moonlight or go on nightly flights underneath the stars just because we
felt like it. It was wonderful.
We eventually took that final step in our relationship in a secluded
glen at one of her favourite secret places, where the ground was covered
in thick, soft moss and we were far away from any prying eyes. It was
perfect and beautiful and she was so happy she cried afterwards, while I
held her close and swore to myself that nothing will ever take me away
from her.
The word love had not yet passed either of our lips at that time, though
I did not quite grasp the impact of such words then, content as I was
that we showed our love for one another in actions instead. It took but
a little while longer before I would be made aware of the importance of
words.
Since we first met we had been mutually struggling to learn the other's
native language. Although she claims that I speak her language fairly
well she sounds funny when speaking mine, still my native tongue has
never sounded quite as charming as when spoken in her slightly lilting
way.
Somehow I had gotten unaccustomed to hearing my own language spoken
since I crossed the borders for the first time, and so when I moved
through the rooms and hallways of our home to hear a familiar voice
haltingly speak in that tongue the words themselves did not register
with me. Curious as to why my love was speaking this way when I was not
with her I followed the sound to our bedroom door without her noticing
me.
At first I could not comprehend what she was doing.
As far as I could tell she was addressing my papa, even though she of
course was alone in the room and my father still at some unknown
location a nation away, and she paced as she was doing it. After a few
circuits back and forth across the bedroom floor, arms moving wildly to
emphasize something from time to time and head shaking occasionally, I
finally realized it.
She was practicing a speech she intended for when she would meet my
papa, a speech in which she with slightly broken words and funny
pronunciations would declare to him her love for me, that her intentions
where I was concerned were honourable, and that she would take good care
of me and cherish me always.
By the time she had gotten to the part where she explained that she
would marry me if only she could find a place in the world where such a
thing was allowed, I stumbled into the room with tears in my eyes.
Not noticing me at first she continued her conversation with my absent
papa, assuring him that she would be a good wife for me, then she
stopped and had a little argument with herself whether she should say
wife or husband, and that is when she noticed me.
She blushed a bright red as I threw my arms around her and told her that
I love her too. For good measure I said it in all three languages before
the dam burst and I clung to her, burying my head into her shoulder.
It was my time to cry, overcome with joy, and hers to hold and offer
loving comfort. Since then we have both made sure that words follow
actions and no part of this wonderful, beautiful love we share goes
unexpressed.
One day I am sure she will get her chance to make her case to my papa,
if that is what she wants. It makes little difference, although I am
sure he would appreciate it, for the opinions and decisions of others
does not matter. She has my answer already, in a way she has had my
answer since that first time our eyes met.
We belong together.
And I am completely and utterly hers.
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