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  • Midnite on the Roof


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  • Kissing a Goddess
    Susan Ramirez
    27 Sep 2006

    Kissing a Goddess

    He loved her so much he wanted to marry her then and there. She was beautiful and he wished he could just take her into his arms and keep her there, safe and warm. He loved and lusted her. She was his Ophelia, Juliet, Mab, Rosemary and Sleeping Beauty. Everything about her seemed perfect to him. Every night he dreamed of her body pressed to his in utter passionate embrace, and everyday he woke with a deep longing and quiet sadness within him.

    She was his heroin, his cocaine, his everything, and he didn't even know her name. He imagined it to be something exotic or mysterious like Sahara, Ophelia, Aurora or Navarra. He associated her with roses. He dreamed of their bodies entwined on a bed of rose petals, crushed and so beautiful and fragrant on her flawless ivory skin. She was a goddess. Her midnight hair framed a pale moon face, her pale blues eyes that were almost transluscent seemed to pierce through his very soul, and her lips were always painted a delicate shade of red that reminded him of those roses that are brilliant and bloom only at night. Everything about her seemed designed to ravish his senses. He thought her to be a nocturnal creature, made for the night-time wonders and mysteries.

    He wanted her.

    Every time he saw her, he was instantly breathless, and all else seemed to fade away. She was exquisite and divine. In her, he saw what the world was like before the air you breathed could kill you, the world where you couldn't die from sharing a moment of passionate abandon, and where nuclear bombs were just a nightmare, a fairy story to be told to misbehaving children. Even though he knew she would never be his, he longed for her as one longs for a lover of the past.

    One day in the hallways of a faceless urban school, he heard a whisper, caught the faint scent of those roses that haunted his dreams, and saw her walking by; his goddess.

    "Ophelia" he whispered.

    She turned as if to find the source of this sacred word uttered by a faithful acolyte of her beauty. Her eyes found him and bored into the depths of his soul.

    "What did you call me?" she asked quietly, almost whispering.

    "Ophelia," he replyed " I called you Ophelia."

    A strange half smile lit on her petal lips, and she turned to go.

    "No!" he cried out, reaching for her hand. Her pale skin felt cool and smooth, like marble, and he stared at their hands for a moment, her long slender fingers entwined in his.

    "Ophelia," he whispered once more, " don't leave me, my goddess."

    Her smile was both beautiful and terrible to behold. She had a sad smile, as if she held all the sorrow of the world within her heart. She took his hand and placed it to her cheek, leaning into his hand and closing her eyes for a moment, one blessed moment.

    "Never, I never thought-" he began, but her fingertips stopped him from going on. Her gaze was all that was necessary to make him forget what he was going to say. He felt power radiating from her, and saw their faces drawing nearer...

    They kissed.

    In that moment, his goddess became even more divine. Blood red lips met his, and in that kiss, they were joined and became as one.

    "The roses," he breathed against her lips. She said nothing in return, but gave him her lips once more.

    They pulled away. She had dots of color in her usually pale cheeks and that made her dearer to his heart. He wanted her as his own in that moment more than ever before.

    She moved away and looked at him for a brief moment before turning away.

    "Will I ever see you again?" his voice came out frail and crystalline, as if it would break if she rejected him.

    Her eyes went from palest blue to deepest gray and she closed them tight. "No my love. Never again."

    As she walked away, he felt a bit of his heart, his soul, a bit of his existence go with her, leaving him with an empty place where that stolen moment belonged.

    The End.