Illusions

Illusions.

Days pass

In an oblivion of

Sound

Sight

Touch

Imagination

And capture the senses...

Sound.

She laughs and it echoes in my mind. A small chuckle, a barely hidden snicker, gout of laughter, all seems to repeat and become ceaseless in my ears, until I laugh with them. Looks are passed between others, but I cannot hear them through the sound.

I heard her sing. It resonates through my being still, even though I know she stopped days ago. A small ditty means so much now.

She speaks and I listen attentively, although I don't know the language well. She does not speak to me, but I hear her just the same. Sometimes it seems as though she is always talking to me, even when she isn't there. Or is she?

Sight.

She changed. A Metamorphmagus does that often, and I dream of her changing into different people, people she both is and never will be. She's like that; you never know who she'll be next and her lightning transformations leave you in the dust. It's exciting.

I saw her in a dress once and I knew it was the most beautiful thing in the world. She is beautiful, in all her forms. She's never known that, though.

She cries at night, and I pretend she doesn't, for her sake. She cries for everything that she cannot be, although she is. Small words can be made out. "Worthless" is most common. She doesn't know that she's my light. My life. Obsession is dreadful, she would say, and many would agree. But is it?

Touch.

She bumped into me today. It is not unusual for her to do such things, as she has always been called clumsy, but she's never collided with me before. I no longer wish for these robes to be washed -- they're sacred.

I felt her hand on my shoulder. She stumbled again and had to grasp something, with my arm being the only thing in reach. She apologized, but I couldn't speak. A blush stole across my cheeks from the heat her gaze made me feel.

She touches me with her eyes. Shivers run up and down my spine, making me unable to return her look. A simple glance will make me shudder with want and it used to terrify me, but no longer. Should it?

Imagination.

She's my wife in my dreams. In them, she never cares that I, too, am female and I watch her ever-changing strands of hair on the pillow. She alters her looks and personality so often that I just observe it, marveling in the wonder that is infinitely her.

I touched her in my thoughts. Porcelain fingers tracing pathways down her body, making her shiver and moan. I am all-powerful with my body and mind and I can make her beg and plead. She is mine to touch, control, and love.

She whispers to me in my illusions, telling me her secrets. Fears, hopes, dreams, everything comes tumbling out to the one she loves. Me. In a mixture of barely learned French and English, she tells me of her world, the one in which I wish to die. She is my world, my only, my love. Is this wrong?

All tumbles in a mixture of oblivion, seizing the senses.

Something has changed; I light candles. Something is coming, something big, and I almost dance with impatience. Finally, it does.

A lightning bolt, someone knocks. There, in the doorframe, is my love, her now storm blue eyes dilated. Gabrielle, she says in that awful accent that I love. She holds out her arms, and, slowly, I walk to her.

Thunder rolls. I need you, I whisper. Finally, the words were said. Time stops for a while.

Lightning flashes. She nods, I know. She kisses me slowly before time speeds up to make up for its dallying. She sucks on my tongue gently, wanting to give me time. I don't want time. I want her. And time seems to know it.

Thunder crashes around us. Is this an illusion?, I ask silently, but say nothing aloud. My shirt is gone and so is hers, lost in our haste to meet. Another kiss makes me sightless to all but her, as though it weren't already. She's tall. Too tall. Thus, she quickly changes to someone smaller, shorter, and more delicate. She's more than one person, after all.

Our unhurried pace and romanticism is gone, forgotten in our rush. Something changed, and yet, it stayed the same, because I still love her. Tongues dance in a complex rhythm, fingers tap out patterns on our skin, and legs clasp around one another as we hurry to beat the storm.

Lightning blinds. A long moan precedes our coming and we climax together on my bed. A loud hiss proves that we won against the storm, for the downpour only now begins. We sigh, sated, and I realize that it is no longer she; it is we, and nothing shall change that.

Thunder booms and rain falls, as we fall asleep together. Everything is right again.

Lighting flashes, thunder rolls, and I wake to an empty room. I am clothed and, as no sight of our lovemaking exists, I find that I was living in an illusion once more.

Illusions

Days pass

In an oblivion of

Sound

Sight

Touch

Imagination

And capture the senses...

Forever.