On that cold, December night, the white walls surrounding them were streaked with what looks like tears, but could easily just be dirt, too. On that cold, December night, the brown carpet under their lopsided bed covers the entire span of the floor, absorbing the shadows just like she absorbs him into her skin. The kisses he lands on her shoulders bounce off like the light dancing in her glassy eyes which struggle to focus after the fourth shot of god-knows what. The black nightstand is covered in old receipts and bubble gum wrappers, and the TV placed across the room portrays a permanent vision of static; perfect, white, gray and black static. With their limbs intertwined, we know; we know there is a love so raw, so uncontrollable that wars would rage on if distance were between them. On that cold, December night, he wriggles his hand into hers and placed his chin on the back of her neck, and she turns around to put one arm over his waist. She swings her legs over his, and together they were a perfect match; but darling, matches always burn.
She wraps her arms around herself a little tighter than normal and the chilly air from inside the still car kisses the nape of her neck. The only noise around them is the pitter-patter of the drizzle hitting the windshield. The houses surrounding them are eerily quiet, and a glance from the dashboard clock reads almost three fifty-seven in the morning. He puts his hand on the small of her back and rubs up and down, up and down, up and down. In the pit of her stomach she feels something that shouldn’t be there – a grief, a regret, a guilt.
“What’s the matter?” His brow furrows over his eyes. In the dark they look almost black, but she knows behind the shadows of the night they shine the same, bright blue as shimmering swimming pools on an August day, filled with smiling children and laughter.
“You don’t deserve me. I’ll never be good enough, love. I try, and try, and I always fall short.” Her bottom lip starts to quiver a little more than it does when she’s nervous but a little less than it does when she’s mad.
He kisses the quivering lips and feels the tension in her arms subside as they fall from her waist into her lap. The grief, regret, guilt in her stomach flutters from a brick to a butterfly as she buries her brownish blonde hair into his neck. She can smell his cologne. All he can smell is sweet lavender and coconut; the same lavender and coconut that wafts from her hair when she spins in circles; the same lavender and coconut he gets her for her birthday every year. He’d do anything for her.
“I’ll love you till the end of everything.” He grabs her hand in his and squeezes tight. “I’ve loved you since the beginning of everything, too.” She glances down at the ridge in his thumbnail and the cuff of his favorite Patagonia sweatshirt. She hides a tear rolling down her cheek. She might be the worst person in the world but she’ll always try her best for him, and when he looks at her with love in his eyes, she knows that everything is going to be alright. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but some day, the planets and stars will align and she will be okay.