It is summertime, finally, as the hot air hangs over us like a canopy, the jungle surrounding us buzzing with activity. It has finally gotten warm- not oppressively hot, not like it was when it knocked me out two days ago- but it is not cold at night anymore. We have shed our jackets and they lie like dogs on the front steps, sleeves lagging out like panting tongues.
The night air makes us giddy, and we run, spinning in mindless circles around each other, trying to feel the earth move beneath us. Time is passing much too quickly, and we are only accelerating it as we try to match the worlds’ frenzy. We slow with time, and hang in the hotness like slight perspiration, a bead of sweat trickling down the face of time.
Collapsing, we look up at the night sky, stars illuminating us, matching the pinpricks of the dry blades of grass underneath us, t-shirts and shorts melding together, soft cloth and fragrances wafting across our bodies.
A silent moment passes between us; my head turns to yours and smiles, almost painfully, with happiness. There is contentment, being here with you, a belonging to a place, a companion on a journey. And then, you reach for my hand.
These things take seconds in our lives, but they are captured nonetheless, like cameras clicking away, a freeze photo frame ensnaring us in memories. Though it is summer, the air seems to take on the quality of the kind that happens right after a snowfall- everything is pure and fresh, the imperfections blotted out, or made grossly larger, but it is beautiful and it is crisp and clean. Yet, it smells like the crackling of a wood burning fireplace, hot and dangerous, blazing to the forefront and searing us with infinity. There is warm cinnamon almost, and Irish Spring soap, and all sorts of little things that we never seem to remember unless they’re right there with us. Love smells like moments in time, like your hand in mine.
It feels like a soft baby chick within my hand, fluttering and trembling, not unlike my heartbeat, not unlike the look in your eyes. All of sudden the air doesn’t feel warm, neither does your hand. What’s warmth is the glow of the stars around us, the streetlamps down the way and the feeling like liquid that’s pouring through my veins, like fire and ice melded together. It feels like the first dusting of snow, when eyelashes flutter and tongues probe the air for snowflakes, yearning and craving, the world magical and creative. Love covers us with a baby blanket, soft and memorable, ingrained into our beings, like your hand in mine.
The buzzing of the generators of the buildings around us, skyscrapers from our points of view, hum gently across the grounds. It is not silence, but it is quiet enough for me to hear my beating heart over it. Somehow, it becomes the only thing I can imagine, and I am drawn into my first knowledge of existence. My heart had always been whole, but it had never seemed to work. The pulses meld like a gentle breeze in the treetops, swaying in gentle embraces, swishing night and day, ever present and ever changing. It is light, and sweet. Love sounds most of all like a gentle sigh, the exhalation of breath you forget you are holding. It sounds like a reminder, music just loud enough for you to fall asleep to. It is not a melody, not a rhythm, but a harmony, a piece that comes together to make things complete. Love sounds like swishes of fabric and clothing, and the stretch of skin that a smile creates, and the meshing of our intertwining fingers when your hand is in mine.
The air nearly burns, like soap on a wound, but it is cleansing and shock of it all feels good. Jolting, it travels through my spine, electrifying my senses. Yet, it is also salty-sweet, though maybe that’s just the mugginess of the night. It’s not cotton candy, it’s not sugar it all. It’s like a chocolate-covered pretzel, or saltwater taffy. It lingers long after it has been there. Something like a craving, a picture in your mind, lingering within you, even in your soul, it seems, is where the taste lies, soft and unyielding. Like soft serve ice cream melting in your mouth, love tastes like the warm unknown. Each breath feels as though I have been living underwater for all this time, and I have finally surfaced, the air clean and pure, untainted with regret or sadness. What once was murky now seems clear, and right now love tastes like the mint I breathe in as you chuckle softly in my ear, your hand in mine.
I look at you, and it seems like the first time I have ever seen your face. I am memorizing lines, patterns, characterizing things that don’t seem to be able to fit anywhere, puzzle pieces I have hid away. You are ethereal and fascinating, a place I am anxious to explore and uncover, and love looks like light in darkness. It is the countryside after living in the city for too many years to count; it is as infinite as the stars above and the blades of grass below. It is breathtaking while at the same time giving breath and life to everything around it. Everything looks new, like a baby’s smile, and hopeful. The world seems to be as precious as those moments when you first wake, a warm bed surrounding you, low lighting making an easy transition from dreams to reality, seamless enough that, for a few moments, there is no difference.
Love looks like you and I on one hot summer night, while the air around us sighs and breathes, peaceful and reflective. It looks like a moment as we try to stop time while the Earth below spins us infinitely. It looks like peace within chaos, eternity within a moment. Love looks like your hand in mine.
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