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Kisses, ever so lightly peppered, among her collarbone. Not to leave a bruise, never, but to feel the tenderness of my unconditional love dampened among her anatomy. Hand in hand, slender fingers, with my own hand - calloused - stroking my undeserving thumb against her soft, able palm. Her warmth, an invite to my what used to be darkened psyche. Blinded by hatred once, too hindsight to recognize the true importance of my life. The importance, my priority, lays within that of my love. My love to her.
My bella.
My lungs fill, intoxicated with her breath, with my mental refusal to breathe out; to let go of such blissful air. My available hand, tangled in her silky strands, as if to brush her perfect, soft hair. The mattress we laid upon holding us together, a blanket, as if to act as a means to bound us together ever so rightfully, as I coddle with everlasting endearment. Surely never to end, so far as we are alive. Alive to experience more days like this together, until our last breath. Even in death, my spirit will follow hers for centuries, be it if it must. She smiles upon my anxieties, such a soft, gentle smile gracing me. Soccur, easy, and blatant. No need for suspicions, just, her. She leans in towards my worried expression, kissing my lips in the motive to reassure me. Reassure such useless thoughts, to not allow me to entertain them any further. My eyes widen, enlightened with the epiphany of further consolation.
I retract my right hand from her hair, moving it down towards her downy cheek. Stroking my thumb, slowly, to and fro, with affinity grappled in my eyes. For all I see in my view, truly is love. Simply, her. Our breaths, grazing each others as I take her for another kiss. For days we spend together in bed, merely lying there in our affections. Naps, intimacy, and baths; cuddled and huddled up against the other. Naked, clothed. A romantic rendezvous, yearning never to end. Never, suffocating for each the other. Lazing together, like a pair of sloths. The sunlight, peering from the blinds, hitting our bodies with such warmth. For I never needed the world, for you are my own. Our little phrase frequently used towards each other in the means to reassure, to soothe our relentless apprehensions. All to dissipate the moment I was pleased with such a sight of beauty, the beauty of which that is you, never to exhaust.
Diced tomatoes, chopped by her very hand against the wooden board. I would lay my chin, nestled against the crook of her neck - so warm. Arms wrapped around her waist as she would giggle soft little comments made towards me. A sound to never be worn out. As she would poorly angle her knife, with her intermediate grip, cutting with struggle as she laughed at her mistakes, like she was flushed. Uneven cut pieces, forced into my mouth before she could hear my small teases. Making no time to hear my sung ‘praises’, just her surprises. Rolling out pasta dough, with the rolling pin we bought in our adventure out, on the kitchen table as I would help cut them into pieces of fettuccine. Rubbing flour all over each others clothes and apron, playing like children in a kitchen, which we used to be scolded for such immaturity. As if in the means that we had no care entirely, in the whole world. Only for each other.
Our small little trips out together, shopping as we played around in the aisles. Making advances every now and then with teases of affection. Drives: morning, afternoon, nighttime - out together, windows rolled all the way down as she’d play her favorite songs on the aux. The breeze hitting our faces, as I’d glance over and see her express such genuine, unadulterated joy. Living truly in the moment. When it would rain, she would run outside, not frightened of the physical consequences. She’d take my hand in hers as we would laugh, clothes drenched along with our hair, finding a spot under an awning. We’d sit together on the bench, as we huddled together, shivering while being simultaneously hysterical. The moment we got home, I would carry her in my arms, cradling almost, sitting her atop of the sink and run the tub. Washing her hair thoroughly, down to her back, then her legs with a velvety yellow sponge, soaked with duds along with my hands as she’d reciprocate the same treatment for me. Ensuring we were truly clean, free from illness as she laid against my chest with the water leveled at her breasts. Tranquility, unmatched.
Planning our wedding, endlessly spending conversations discussing how we would like it done. A wedding dress, not too flashy, but also not too long to trip in. With a veil sprinkled in small artificially sewn, detailed flowers. I was already imagining in that moment, seeing her walk down the aisle - so breathtakingly - as I would hold my breath and watch in such awe. Ideas of a venue, envelopes, people, cake, food - such an entertainable idea for the two of us. Most importantly, the ring. A ring that would cling to our appropriate finger, the ring finger. Or as she’d like to joke to correct me say, “the digitus medicinalis.” Saying our vows with such sincerity blazing in each other’s eyes. To then take her hand at the altar, donning that diamond ring on her ever so deserving finger. As the priest would pronounce us, I would take in for the most loving kiss I would ever give her in our lives. A dream so beautiful, one shared between the two of us.
For this, is what it could’ve been. Before you ended your life before ours even started.
I miss you everyday, amore mio. I wish you would’ve told me.
I’ll continue writing these letters to you, though they won’t ever be received.
Ti amo, tesoro.