Today may be Threshold Day, but it’s also the 21st anniversary of “Coda”!
I couldn’t let the day end without writing something. So here is a 400 word drabble.
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The breeze is colder out on the water than they anticipated,
but the couple in the sailboat doesn’t seem to mind. Wrapped in each other, her
head on his chest, they rest quietly. Every now and then the breeze tugs at her
hair, frees strands from their confines, but neither seem to care.
The moon is bright above, reflecting in the water that is
lapping at the side of the gently rocking boat.
At their feet rest two champagne flutes, long since emptied
and forgotten, the soft cling when they touch a reminder of their presence.
The man watches the stars above, holding the woman close to
him, not with the confidence of lovers but with the careful restraint of
possibilities.
Her hand is on his chest, resting lightly, held back by what
any movement might imply or which doors it could open. Her eyes are closed, but
she is not sleeping, despite her calm features.
When the computer finally announces the end of their escape,
the woman raises herself and looks down at her companion. The sadness she feels
is reflected in his eyes, but he takes her fingers and brings them to his lips.
Then the illusion ends.
—-
The sun set hours ago and in the chill of the early night, the
man in the small boat has pulled a blanket up over himself and his companion.
The moon rises over the calm waters, the boat rocking ever
so slightly with the movements of its occupants. They are unaware of the turns
of the universe around them, shielded from it by the heavy wool.
The woman is comfortably resting against a pillow, her nose
dusted with freckles, cheeks reddened by the afternoon sun. Her eyes find those
of her lover above her and their gazes lock as easy smiles play on their lips.
Moonlight reflects in the sliver of his hair and plays on
his features, painting angles and lines and an expression full of love and
serenity.
Their lips meet without urgency, without need or anxiety.
Their caress is full of care, at the slow pace of travelers having arrived,
content to be still.
Under the fabric, fingers roam bare skin, exploring familiar
curves and edges. Legs are entwined, anchoring both bodies to one another,
reliable and steadfast.
Their movements are unhurried, languid, and speak of
understanding, of years spent together and promises of times to come.
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As usual big thanks to my soulmate @klugtiger for always indulging me and my comma-issues. 😉
bekjaneway 