Marina Comfort and Love Oneshot

Park Date

~For M

The sunlight gleams through the branches, their light swaying, creating a small dance over her legs and on our blanket. My eyes travel from her white vans up her legs towards her face. She looks concentrated as she reads her book. She's resting on her elbows, the book tilted on her chest. A small furrow in her eyebrows, and her face flat, completely immersed. She's so deep into it, she doesn't notice me looking. And I don't want her to. I want to study her features in the warm light. The little details that she lets me get close enough to notice. The curve of her cheek bones, the crimson colour of her lips, their slight cupid bow.

The little things? The little moments? -They aren't little. Every time I'm with her, I savour it, I want to remember the motions. Be able to replay them at night when I'm alone in my bed. Trace the outline of her hands on my palms, try to feel the weight of her skin. And I try, I really do, to keep these observations to myself. To not tell her everything I notice about her, how her essence calms my bones, makes my breathing steady. But I can't. I was born to overlove.

I'm brought back away from my thoughts when she shifts on the blanket. Now leaning back on one of her hands. She looks up at me, brushes her free hand through her hair, takes note of her page number and sets down the book.

I feel her smile in my stomach.

"Hi," I say, looking back down. I was caught.

"Come sit," she pats beside herself on the blanket. I scouch up beside her. Also resting on one hand a bit farther back. She takes one of her legs and crosses it over mine. I place my hand on it slowly, just above her knee. I stare at my hand, nervous to look at her face. I can hear her smile, and I know if I look up, I'll turn bright red. I think she secretly loves it. She moves off her back hand and leans against me, taking my hand in hers.

I try to wear my best rings with her. She says that my hands are dainty. I never realized how much I loved that word until she said it. Let me make her things with my dainty hands, braiding daisy chains, writing her letters, embroidering hearts in my pockets so that others know it's secured, ready to give to her.

She moves her fingers across mine, lifting each one and dropping it slowly back on her leg. She flips my hand and places it in her palm. With her finger, she traces patterns in my palm. A circle, a triangle, spiraling back and forth. Then she stops for a moment, and tells me to close my eyes. Ever so slightly she traces a heart. I feel my cheeks heat up, I stay still. Taking in the sound of the bristling trees, the sound of the fabric of her pants against my thumb stroking back and forth.

She lets out a small laugh, "You can open your eyes now". I slowly open them and turn my head to see her smile. Her eyes slightly crinkled, tucking in her lips, completely aware of what she does to me. She then looks back down and begins to twist the rings on my fingers in small circles.

"How is your book so far?" I ask, still enjoying the soothing feeling of her touch.

"It's good, a little far-fetched. But that's what sells."

"Mmm," I agree with her, "What's the cheesiest part so far?"

"This guy Henry, he's with a woman, Alice, who's terminally ill. At her bedside, he said he would do anything for her. Take away all her pain. He wants her to tell him her fears, open herself up to him, and have someone that will listen to her in her last moments. He barely knows her".

"A little fast then," I responded.

"Yes, exactly. I just don't get it, they're strangers. He's setting himself up for love and pain. Yes, it's romantic, but it's also tragic. I don't get why he would give all of himself to her".

I think in my head, for you, I would.

My mother has always told me I was born to overlove. I can't say it's exactly true. I don't give my time to random strangers, I don't settle on people that don't see the intensity of life. I was born to overlove her. People like her, who love romance, but can't help but see the logical side of it. People who are soft hearted, with a sweetness in their soul that reminds me of fresh corn fields in the summer. She talks like a book, and I yearn to turn the pages, understand her thoughts, opinions, how she sees the world she finds so fascinating.

"Do you know the word cafuné?" I ask.

"No... what does it mean," her head is against my shoulder.

"It means to run your fingers through the hair of the person you love," I respond quietly

"I... I love when you do that," She smirks.

"Do what?" I question, slightly confused.

"Ask a question by not saying it. Make me think about what's really behind it,"

I rolled my eyes and laughed. Of course she knows me enough to know my mannerisms. Maybe I wasn't the only one studying.

"Can I?" I turn my head to look at her. She lifts her head up and I stare into her brown eyes.

"Do you want me to lie down on your legs?"

"Yeah I think that would be best, you can close your eyes too if you want. Let me know if my fingers get caught or you prefer something else"

She shimmied down just above my knees. Untucking her hair and placing it on the blanket. She took my right hand, still playing with my wedding ring. Tracing her fingers over them. Brushing her thumb back and forth over the top of it.

With my left hand I tucked some of her hair behind her ears.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" I say quietly, trying to stay at the same sound level of the music. She closes her eyes, and I know she heard me. She never needs to say anything in response to it. I just want her to hear it. I slowly push some of her hair back off her forehead, lightly placing my fingers against her scalp. I hum to the song.

With her eyes closed, I get to study her face once again. Now with the shadows of the dimming sun. They contour her face, her cheekbones sharper now. I move my hand from her hair. I lightly place my fingers on the left side of her face, close to her ear. And then slowly place my thumb down and stroke her cheek.

Timidly I ask, "Is this okay?"

"Yes," her voice low and dazed.

After one more stroke I move back to her hair. Slightly twirling it in my finger, making sure it doesn't catch on anything. At the same time, she's taking my ring, placing it on different fingers.

"So dainty," she whispers and I can't help but smile.

"Mhm, they are,"

"Also a little cold," she rubs her finger back and forth over the top of my hand, "It's getting dark. Do you want to go back home?"

I wanted to stay here in this moment, just a little longer.

"Maybe..." I quiet down.

"Maybe what?"

I move my fingers up and down in hers. She pushes my hand up above her in the air, her arm straight. They dance together. She keeps quiet, the movement of her hands showing me she's still here. She's listening and waiting for me to be ready to say what I want. She understands it can be hard for me to vocalize it.

"Maybe, a kiss would warm it up," She smiles and brings her arm back down. Her two hands wrapped around mine. Her thumbs placed on top of it, her fingers cupping down around the sides to the bottom of my palm. She looks up at me as she brings my hand closer to her face, placing the lightest kiss on the top of it.

"Always," she says as she places it back down against her chest.

"Thank you" I reply.

I got a little lost with time. She's right, it has gotten darker now, to the point where her features are beginning to blend in together. The light from the stars creating shadows that dance across her skin.

I take a breath, "Okay, I'm ready now if you are," I smile down at her.

"I am," I help pull her up so that she can sit straight. I pull her into a hug, my head in her neck.

"Let's go home," she whispers into my hair.