Lying in a Field
Daniel S Martin
“Do you think love is possible?”
“Love? Do you think it’s possible?” I answered.
“Of course,” She replied, in her playful, feminine tone. She was happy. I could feel it. “What do you think?”
“I… I don’t know anymore,” I splutter, stumbling over my words. She turned her head and looked at me. Confusion played in her eyes, betraying her emotions. “What do you mean?” She asks calmly.
I tear my gaze away from her and looked up at the rapidly reddening sky. “I feel Love. Lots of it. I want to give it, but…”
“But you feel like you can’t,” she interrupted.
“Well, what then?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I sighed, the feeling of regret building up inside my stomach. Why could I not just say it?
She returned her gaze to the sky. It was a pleasant day. The sun shone down on the lush grass that we lay in. No cloud blocked the view of the brightest blue sky and a gentle breeze stopped the early summer evening from feeling too hot. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing really,” I stuttered.
“I don’t believe that. What’s wrong? You can tell me, I promise.”
“I know, but…it’s just…” – come on, tell her – “I love you.” The weight of many months of built up emotion, fled as I spoke.
She continued looking up at the sky. I watched her and could tell that the cogs were turning in her head. “I love you too,” she said after a few long seconds, which felt like months or even years, but were in fact a few seconds. She turned, peering into my eyes. My heart had skipped a beat, the air in my lungs quickly, but silently escaping, as she uttered those precious four words. I returned her gaze, noticing a little ballerina twirling around within the deep green of her eyes. It spun, leaped, rolled and danced in the most elegant way possible. As it danced, the ballerina beamed in innocent content. Once it stopped, her feminine frame and joyful aura was consumed by the pupil, which widened to swallow the green iris.
My love looked away from me, before sighing, deeply, and rising from the grass. I watched her gather up her things before turning to me and saying, “Come on then. Let’s get moving.” Her hand was out stretched for me. It seemed to glow, the minimal light being drawn towards her hand, circling in a pleasant orbit, which had regularity to it. Her hand called to me, whispering sweet nothings of the violent beat of a runaway heart. I rose, grabbed my coat and, taking her hand, slung the thin material over my shoulder.
We began to walk down the hill, the lush grass stretching out below us into miles of lush pastures that suddenly stopped in the start of the cul-de-sac, just below us. We walked hand in hand, our hearts leading us forward.