What A Lovely Way To Burn

She lay in bed with her thoughts and her lover, trying to sort out which consumed her more. This man sleeping beside her, source of joy, pleasure, turmoil - she watched him, saw his chest rise and fall, ran her eyes over his soft mouth, felt his legs touching hers. She turned her gaze from him towards the window, and the darkness that lay beyond it. She saw the whiteness of the snowflakes, twirling and dancing in the night air. It made her long for the place inside her that no longer was.

She slowly, carefully untwined herself from her lover, pushing aside the covers to her left ever so softly. The silky black satin of her nightgown slipped up around her thighs as she raised her legs, sat up, and hung them over the side of the bed, like a child in a chair that is too tall. In the dark, she gazed at the whiteness of her legs, contrasting to her slip like the snowflakes to the night. She stood silently, feeling the gown slip back down over her round bottom, tickling its way down her thighs and coming to rest finally at her knees. Like a cat she padded over to the window, making her way through the darkness, past the table holding the now-warm champagne, to the snow-illuminated window. She gazed at the silent flakes, feeling the coldness of outside even through the glass. Her heart cracked, and she felt such a longing that she feared it would overtake her - longing for what used to be...missing her innocence. She wanted once again to dance like the snowflakes, and to be hidden from the melting truth in the black envelope of the night. She was no longer a child. She was no longer an innocent. She mourned for the part of herself that had died just a few hours ago in the very bed her lover now lay dreaming in.

She continued to watch her former comrades swirling past, pressing her hand to the glass and watching it fog around her outspread fingers. The coolness seeped through her palm and into her hand, strangely comforting her. Then she felt the heat of him, felt him standing behind her, coming in close and pressing into her. She felt his long arms encircle her crossed ones, his hot breath on her neck, and smelled the musk of him. She wondered if he, too, could feel the solitude she felt running through her just moments before, if he had awoke and seen her standing there, silhouetted against the window, and had known she was someplace else - he had her empty, crumpled half of the bed as proof. She wanted him and wanted him to go away at the same time; his embrace was both smothering and filling her new, desperate need for his closeness.

The sound of his voice on her name brought her back to him, to their hotel room, to their unmade bed, to the act of physical love that had taken place just a few hours ago. It had been the first time for her. She could still recall the feel of him inside her, still feeling the remains of his essence inside. He had made it so good for her, taking the right time, making sure not to be rough or hurtful, his sweet penetration so wonderfully slow. She had been physically ready. She thought she was equally prepared mentally, emotionally, but this sudden feeling of loss that was bringing tears to her eyes showed otherwise. Their act had been physically satisfying, but she could not help feeling somewhat disconnected from the actual act, the ancient dance taking place between their bodies, as if it were a dream. Now, after they had finished, lay nose-to-nose in each other's arms, and he had drifted to sleep, here she was - mourning what she no longer was, with her lover behind her, embracing her and struggling with what could be the matter with her.

His arms came from around hers and went to her shoulders, gently pulling, wanting her to face him. He uncrossed her arms, placing her hands over his heart as he stroked her jaw, down her arms, across her young chest, down the open back of her satin slip.

"Please, lover... tell me what's the matter," he hoarsely pled, searching her down-turned face in the dark for answers. She remained resolute, trying to keep the tears from spilling. She did not want him to think she regretted what they were doing together. She did not. She only had not realized what it would do to her. She felt connected to this man, and she did not want to lose that. He was her new existence, as a woman - he was what she needed most now.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, voice traced with worry. She looked up at him, at his apparent pain as he asked. His eyes implored hers for an answer. She looked at him through her tears and slowly shook her head. No, he had not hurt her. He sighed with relief and pressed her to him, as if trying to pull her inside his chest. Their closeness, his sleepy smell, and the tightness of his embrace - she was overcome, and the sobs burst from her like a collapsing dam. He held her as she shook, saying nothing, just being there with her as she struggled with the new creature she had become. He felt her arms encircle his waist and move up to grip his shoulders, clinging as if she were drowning. He continued to hold her long after the tears had run out, his chest wet with her emotion.

There they stood, pressed to one another, silhouetted in the window, one once again. She was silent now, resting her face against the smooth skin of his chest, her hands still gripping his back. His roamed her soft, exposed skin, offering comfort in the form of caresses along the middle of her back, across her shoulder blades, mingled with squeezes and kisses in her tear-soaked hair. He ran his hands up her arms, up the back of her neck, around to her now-expressionless face, worn out by her overflow of emotion. He placed his fingers in her thick, long tresses, moving her hair away from her face and tilting her head up at an angle to his. He slowly placed a kiss on her forehead, and she closed her eyes once more. Their bodies never lost contact, maintaining the closeness that was becoming essential to them. His next kiss fell on her fevered left cheek; the one after was placed on her right, catching the last of her salty teardrops.

His lips still wet with her tears, he placed his lips lightly on hers, brushing them rather than pressing them together. They stood like this for several minutes, each feeling the breath, the life, of the other. It was she who finally stepped even closer into their embrace and began drinking from his mouth -drinking his love, his security, and his reassurance that he was there with her. He felt her tongue parting his lips gently, searching for its mate, and their tongues proceeded to make love as their bodies had done earlier. Thoughts of what she had once been now left her mind, and she embraced what she had become - a Woman.