Fingertips are lingering above precious skin. Aching to touch, so close, yet so far away. A heartbeat beating softly, in a steady rhythm, matching the beat of the music that fills the room. There are no words. All there is, is fingertips, a heartbeat, music and her.
She is so close. Her perfume taunting me. The scent slowly surrounding me, but too far away to inhale. She teases with all that she is. Her fingers trace my face, but never touch, I try to bring myself up to her fingers, but my body doesn't respond.
She seems almost scared to touch me. If I could penetrate her mind, I'd see words flowing, sentences building, pictures of the past, frames of still shots, but I cannot penetrate her mind. I know her like the back of my hand. She does not need to speak for me to understand what she is feeling.
Tears are flowing. They escape from beautiful blue eyes, slowly rolling down the now puffy cheeks. I try to reach out, but I cannot move. Frustration builds inside me and my heartbeat grows faster.
We are both in pain. Emotionally and physically, we can't take each other's pain away. We're both fighting out own battles.
The car hit us without any warning. We were laughing as it wrapped itself around her car. The laughing stopped. The silence became deafening. There is no worse sound in the world than silence.
The silence didn't last long. Sirenes, screams, crying, sounds of disbelief filled the air surrounding us. The ambulance comes quick. The police try to keep curious people away from the scene. It is a horrific scene. There is blood on ground, blood in the car, there is blood covering her beautiful face and there is blood gushing from my
body.
I want to get to her, I want to take away her pain, but she is not near me. Her ambulance goes west as mine goes north. My heart breaks as they rip us apart. I want to scream and shout, to tell them to turn around, but I cannot speak nor move.
The white lights are blinding. The doctors seem busy, but in control. They are all bundled up together working on my body, but I feel lonely. I want to be with her. Hours pass by and the tube in my mouth, down my throat feels horrible.
Time passes by slowly. Hours feel like weeks, weeks feel like months. The time crawls as does my skin when they do check-up's. I want to know where she is. I need to know she is still alive. But they don't speak to me. They have given up on me.
She is sitting on the edge of my bed. She looks good. She always does, she has scars, but she is perfect. She breathes, she is alive. Her fingers linger, her heart beats and the music fills the room. I try to smile, I try to talk, but I lay there, motionless.
She gets off from the bed. She is limping, but just slightly. She must be bruised, inside and out. I can't take away her pain, until I take away my own. She grabs a book from the shelf, turns the music down a notch and sits back down on the edge of the bed.
Her hands tremble for a moment as she reaches out for my hand, grasping it in her own. Her voice soft, she starts reading. Words fill the room, they light up my heart. Her tears stop streaming, she giggles at the words she speaks, I know she is remembering, like I am.
Her voice, her touch, they are my healing process and as I heal, so does she. She talks to me, sometimes sweet, sometimes stern. I ache to please her, so I open my eyes. She smiles, "Hello, little girl."
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