The hour of their call meant she was somewhere between sleep and consciousness, defences low, mouth spilling forth the uncensored thoughts and sensations of body and mind.
In the warm rumpled bed with the phone cradled next to her ear, she revealed herself to him in the way she only could when immersed in the midnight dark as his voice and laughter and the intimate details of his life wove their way into her very core.
But now she worries she has bared too much, too much of herself, her insecurities, too much of the desire he ignites in her and the attachment she is beginning to feel after so short a time.
And so her stomach churns and head vertiginously spins as she wakes quietly weeping, fearful of the vulnerable openness he has inspired, fearful he no longer cares for the view from here.
The view from here could only be a further inspiration. That kind of intensity is the kind of intensity we should all wish for. Tears are temporary; the actual cause of the tears wouldn't want that kind of reaction, I'm sure.
(As a side note, you should really let Ang, the Sweltering Celt, know about this entry. Her Microfantasy Monday theme for this week was “Spiritual Connection”, and it struck me upon reading this how very well it fits the theme. All unknowing. Beautifully written, in any case.)
— PB
I sincerely hope the view is an inspirational one, even when it is a challenging one. At any rate, it's more than a little heartwarming to know intensity is both a desired and desirable trait.
Thank you for your kind, generous words once again, PB…