So you asked me how I felt. With that expectant half-smile on your face and your chocolate brown eyes lingering on my lips, waiting for an answer… wanting to know how I felt. And I had to answer.
But how could I? How could I say all the things I wanted to say in the few fleeting minutes we’d left together? How could I explain my feelings to you without knowing myself how deep they ran?
I lowered my gaze, not able to meet yours and considered asking for clarification. What do you mean? I’d formed the words in my head, but held my tongue, knowing it would’ve been futile. I knew what you meant. And I knew what I felt.
I could feel your eyes on my face searching for an answer, but they must’ve found only a blush and a euphoric smile I was trying to hide.
And then the announcement broke the spell. Final call for all the passengers– I had to go.
“I-I’ll email you my answer,” I remember my words clearly. The faint nod I recognized was enough, but when you grasped my arm, my world stopped.
“I’ll never forget you,” you said, stepping closer. I could feel your breath. “I lo-”
I wasn’t ready to hear those words and my lips silenced yours. The kiss was magical, like always. You tasted of coffee- no sugar, just cream… The final kiss however, the one on my forehead, was the most special…
You asked me what I felt. And here is my answer:
It was an innocent question, asked honestly- I agree- nevertheless impossible to answer in mere words.
How could these words do justice to my feelings? How could they tell you that a part of you is still with me, and that I left a part of me in your arms, hundreds of miles away? How do I put a name to that? How do I start?
At the beginning, I suppose. When I met you first, I didn’t know what we had, or what destiny had in store for us. I didn’t know what we were going to have, to share, to feel would be so special, so pure, so us…
You can see how insufficient these words are to describe us. It’s impossible to do so. But I promised I’ll try.
Looking back down, I see you, I feel you… I see your chocolate brown eyes… and I see a lot of memories. It’s amazing to feel so loved by reliving snatches of memories strewn down the memory lane… Maybe I’ll just begin with these memories.
The first memory I can come up is when we first met at Mrs. Shore’s party. The long room, with walls decorated with cloth painted in oriental design, the heavy, ornately carved furniture… It looked something from a 19th century English novel, all royal, spotlessly glittering. Bit it was vacuous- and frivolous. That is, until you came along and complimented me.
“What magnificent waste,” your voice still rings clear as it did then. I had to turn and escape. I remember blushing hard. I’d been complimented numerous times, but your words reflected what I was feeling amid those ladies.
Another memory is when you first called my name.
“Aerith,” I see you still with your half smile, repeating my name, slowly letting it set over your tongue as if you were tasting something exotic.
Another distinct memory is the sound of your laughter- loud, deep and carefree.
I still remember your touch. Your thumb against my lower lip, catching the stray drop of molten ice-cream. Touch. That is the most powerful, most real sensation I can think of when I remember you. Your touch. Your hard lines imprinted on my soul. Your body- with the straight lines and angles, each curve broken into planes and mine- slanting, tangled within yours.
But now, even after all this time and distance, your touch remains. In tiny electric jolts of pleasure that spark through me when your memories visit me, leaving lingering touches…
These memories fill me; I’m bereft without them, without you. I still haven’t told you so many things… About when you held my hand for the first time, or when you kissed me, or when we made love…
Each memory is distinct, yet they’re all interconnected; separate, yet overlapping; existing alone and together simultaneously, with us being the common thread. I can do this forever, but I think you know what I feel.
So does that answer your question?
Or were you expecting just an ‘awesome’ or ‘good’ as my reply?
I thought about that, but it felt inadequate, incomplete. However, so does this. This one’s not enough either.
Or is it?
I wrote it for Valentine’s Day, but couldn’t have it typed due to some reasons. The title is a bit ambiguous, I agree, but it was the word ‘Airtight’ that inspired the story (or whatever you might call it.) I was reading an article on using good dialogue to reveal characters’ aspects when I wrote this. I titled it Treasured Feelings first, but decided against it, since it gave away too much. Airtight fits, since her feelings are inside her, filling her up to the brim before exploding on paper.
What do you think?
All comments, suggestions, criticisms, requests… are welcomed.