Forgotten Under the Elm
The sun was shining brightly through the thinly veiled curtains. It warmed the room quickly. I could feel small beads of sweat bubble up under the sheet we were wrapped in. Your naked body still pressed firmly into mine. The wind blew through one slightly opened window. The cool air crept under the sheet, rushed over my body, evaporated the small beads of sweat, and gave me an instant chill. I pulled your warm body even tighter into mine and kissed your neck. You gave a little moan and a stretch. I whispered, "Good morning." On this day, you were brand new to me again. Had you been there all along? Or was this really new? I couldn't remember. I felt like I had known you forever and yet still needed to tell you everything. I gave your back a kiss and said, "Let's go make some coffee." You nodded as you arched your beautiful body and stretched the "sleepy" out of your fingers and toes. I had to watch.
I made the coffee and you poured the cereal. We sat staring, sipping and eating. I smiled at you like a fool. You blushed and smiled back. Why did this feel so familiar and new at the same time? I grabbed the paper and we worked the crossword. It was a perfect tandem. You got all the clues for words I hadn't heard prior. I got the more obvious pop culture ones. We finished it quickly and had more coffee on the porch. We watched some birds flitting around in the large oak off the corner of the porch. I liked how watching made you smile. So I smiled. I suggested we go for a walk around the woods. You nodded.
We walked and talked for hours. We talked about our favorite music and movies. Had we always liked the same things? Or was this the first time we had talked about it? Maybe I was just now listening. Maybe I knew long ago and had forgotten. We talked about the future and how we saw ourselves and how we felt others perceived us. We really were the same. How wonderful it felt. Why hadn't we talked like this before? Or was this our first chance? The whole journey was clouded by muddy memories. However, the destination was crystal clear. Would you hold my hand while we ventured toward it? We stopped to rest under a huge elm. Its branches reached over top of us and bent slightly toward the Earth as if it were hugging our presence.
I looked into your eyes and touched your face. Had you always been this beautiful? Had you changed something recently? Or was this really the first time I had a chance to look? No matter. I leaned in and kissed your lips. You were warm, soft, and tasted sweet. I could have kissed you for hours. Maybe I did. It seemed like forever in a second. I pulled you down and we lay under the elm. We stared for moments on end. Then broke into conversation about something so asinine, we would fall into each other laughing. The sun began its decent into the western side of the stage. The curtain was calling on our day.
We walked hand in hand back to the house swinging our arms like two young kids. It seemed like this had all happened before. Had we been lovers when we were younger? Did it just seem that way because of the level of comfort we had? Or was this really the dopamine receptors kicking in for new love? It didn't matter it was amazing. The porch light shined like a welcoming beacon. The bugs danced around it, hitting the globe, bouncing off it, and coming back for more. I felt like those bugs sometimes in life trying to get at the white hot center of it all; only to bounce off life's invisible force field of reality and return from a new direction. We walked into the house and your bags sat at the stairs. I was surprised and shocked by their sight. However, I knew in an instant it was how it had to be. I pulled you close and we embraced very tightly. I gave you one last kiss. Your eyes filled with tears, as did mine. Your sadness reflected mine. In your eyes, I relived all the memories of that day and smiled. You smiled back. I whispered, "You're coming back aren't you?" You shook your head "no" but said, "Of course I will my sweet." At that moment, I knew exactly what you meant, but would later forget.