Her hair peeks at me shyly from under the covers. With a smile, I pull the remainder of the covers around her, as she sleeps on.
The Sun is bright this Sunday afternoon. Outside the balcony, I can see the leaves quivering slightly in the Santa Barbara breeze. The streets wind along, spelling out an indecipherable soliloquy that embraces a still drowsy city. Opening the glass door gingerly, as not to upset her sleep, I step outside, the slate cold against my bare feet. With a sigh, I plop down on the deck chair, sinking deep into the cushions. The breeze caresses my warm cheeks, brushing my hair aside.
It makes me remember the previous night, running hand-in-hand, yelling at the top of our lungs like children through the empty streets. “1-2-3” she yells before jumping onto me. Surprised, I instinctively cradle her under my arms as she chuckles under her breath. She leans up, kissing me on the cheek, before letting out a sedated sigh.
There were those times, where we sat solemnly on the swing under the willow, the drooping branches swaying as gently as we rocked back and forth. The good times, I guess, where only the blood coursing excitedly throughout our veins took care of the talking. Her spring time youth had a way of mollifying my tendency for rigidness, making the edges of my lips crease with smiles.
She understood my deepness without really understanding it. Once upon a time, I thought myself a White Knight. Once upon a time, I could save the world. Once upon a time, I cared much more. I don’t want to save anyone. I don’t want to change anyone’s life. I don’t want to be a giver, without being a taker first. In a way, I’m content with the here and now. The future, they say, can wait.