almosthappy
Re-reading my short stories. I miss writing fiction.
The cool beach air washed over us, bring with it an aroma of life. I held her close, and whispered back in her ear. I whispered my own words of love to her, and reveled in her warmth, taking in the mélange of her moist, fragrant hair. I couldn’t begin to appropriately extol the feeling that welled up right below my heart, pushing into it as if to force the beating organ into my head, bringing me to a delicate and exquisite high. I had a sudden urge to pledge myself to her. I stopped breathing, and I closed my eyes. I could feel her turn her head next to me, wondering at my sudden silence. A tear rolled down my cheek as I made her a promise I had heard in song. “If you die,” I said, “so do I.” The tears welled up yet again.
… I blinked my eyes. Four seconds to live.
Oh yeah. To a friend: I'm almost happy for you. I'm certain I would be, if I were capable of happiness right now.