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I do want a future. This warmth tingling in my stomach, the heady feeling in my head, the pattering of my heart, what is this? I might as well ask what is love. Love, that ephemeral thing that we humans strive to find, usually in all the wrong places. But how can I be in love with someone I’ve literally just met?
Love at first sight, idiot.
Sure, in stories. Love at first sight is a thing but in reality? Lust, sure. Desire, okay. But love? That’s a pretty heavy word to throw down on a single glance, isn’t it?
“Love, word is love,” he says, interjecting himself so smoothly into my thoughts it's as if he read them. “Fate. Also, fate.”
“Fate?” I ask, shifting off of his chest so I can look into his face.
He nods, seriously. The frown on his face is marred by an uptwist at the corners of his mouth as he shrugs.
“Fate,” he nods again. “Meant. Tajss provides.”
“Tajss provides? The planet? What?”
He chuckles and opens his wings. They close behind him with a snap and we go from an encircling protection to full exposure to the night sky. Above us millions, maybe even trillions of stars twinkle laid out across the midnight blue sky. Provyd makes a sweeping motion with his arm across the sky then pats the sand at his side.
“Tajss,” he says, patting the ground again.
“I know this is Tajss,” I say, shaking my head. “Planet,” I tap the sand too, “not aware. No… mind.”
I point at my head. His smile widens.
“No?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Planets do not think. They are not aware.”
“Sure?” he asks.
It’s a simple question asked with such a plaintive naivete that it stops me in my tracks. Planets thinking? Seriously? Like the planet itself is alive?
I’ve a passing familiarity with most old Earth religions. In school, we had tolerance classes that introduced us to basic concepts of lots of different religions and cultures. There were those who thought the universe itself was, to some degree, sentient. That it could be aligned by the power of thought or some such.
I never really subscribed to any religion. To anything really. Before the accident, if I’m being honest with myself, I was pretty shallow. A pretty face, a nice body, a good roll in the hay pretty much all I wanted to be happy. I never spent time thinking deeper thoughts beyond the moment I was in. Enjoying life as it came.
None of which means I was right. And despite his limited language, the conviction in his words, the deep belief in what he is saying resonates with me. It resonates with something inside of me. That part of me that feels like all of this, him, me, us here together is right on some grander level than two people having a picnic.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not sure.”
He smiles. “Time tell.”
Time will tell, won’t it. The way he is looking at me, something in his eyes that I can't quite put a name to. It’s more than kindness. It’s something akin to… devotion?
“Yeah,” I say, feeling shaken by how fast this is moving.
My heart pounds faster and my breathing is speeding up. Sure there is desire. What sane girl wouldn’t feel an urge of that nature with a guy who looks as good as he does? Even if he is an alien, but those muscles call to that primal instinct of a body to make babies. But it’s not desire that’s affecting me like this. It’s more.
“You,” he points at me, “me,” at himself then he clasps his hands together interlacing his fingers. “Fit. Belong. One.”
I frown, sorting through his limited words. Does he know what he is saying? It’s pretty clear that he does. He stares intently at me over his clasped hands with an expectant look. I chew on my lip, unsure.
“One?” I ask and my voice trembles.
Slowly I reach across the distance between us which though small suddenly feels vast. When my hand finally arrives I place it over the top of his interlaced ones and let it rest there. I meet his expectant gaze. The world around us shifts. The stars drift across the sky, the moon rises, and the wind blows the loose sand while we sit together. Staring into one another’s eyes as this blossoming connection between us takes root and becomes more.
More. This is it. This is the thing we all want, we dream about. The thing that poets wax on about and songwriters wrestle to capture.
“One,” he repeats.
