The Embrace

The dream haunted him through his day, held him in thrall through the nights he spent twisting and turning in his bed. Never far from his mind, it seemed to come to him whenever he closed his eyes, so seductive it could drive him to his knees.

(Will you wrap your arms around me?) There was nothing else, no visual sensation save for a flashing glimpse of a woman so beautiful it hurt him to behold. A momentary glimpse, a flash of wondrous lightning, and she was gone again.

Someone from work had called that morning, wondering where he was at home. The conversation had been the only communication with anyone since he had awoken, crying in misery, since his dream had ended.

"Jon, why are you at home?" Her voice was raspy, and cold, so unlike his beautiful dream it seemed to hurt.

"I didn't feel like coming in today, that's all." He had replied, in a dull tone.

"Really? And when do you think you will feel like coming in?" She asked, angrily.

"I really don't care." He hung up the phone, then pulled the cord from it, angry at the interruption. He went back to waiting, in his small, relatively empty apartment.

Jon knew, with every fiber of his being, that she would come to him, once the sun fell, in the darkness. Knew, too, what she would ask him, and what his answer would be. Though a part of his mind screamed in protest, telling him how foolish he was being, his mind was set, his course determined. The tiny, logical part of his mind railed on about his foolishness, how impossible it all was, but he ignored it, and it eventually faded away.

The day passed quickly enough, as he sat on his dull grey couch, in his impersonal apartment, more like a hotel room than a home, waiting, her question dancing in his head.

(Will you wrap your arms around me?)

There'd be no one to break his silent meditation, there'd been no one of import in his life. As an orphaned child, he'd been raised in several foster homes, he'd never grown attached to anyone. Never loved, or hated, had always held himself apart, and watched life go by, uninterested. His life held no fond memories or deep regrets, only an intense longing for something more, something which he could never describe.

The sun eventually faded into the horizon, the birds chirping a mournful farewell. As the night grew, the sounds of the street and the apartments around him faded, leaving him to his introspective silence. Tears cascaded down his face, unnoticed.

Then, as quickly as the blackness had overcome him, she was there, standing before him, burning with intense beauty, eyes shining with determination and intelligence.

Although she was right before him, her features were indefinable, for they seemed to flow and change whenever he looked away. He would be staring at luscious, long golden hair, then his eye would catch hers, and he'd stare into her emerald eyes. Yet when his eyes returned to her hair, it would be medium length, and dark, midnight black, and meeting her eyes, he'd find them to be hazel, not the emerald he had originally thought.

Normally an intelligent man, he would have been quite suspicious, perhaps even a little worried. Yet, in his euphoria he passed it off as nothing more than a trick of his imagination.

"H-h-hello", he managed to stammer out weakly, then blushed. What a dumb thing to say, he thought to himself bitterly. But how do you address a woman so perfect, so wonderful?

She didn't seem to mind, was, in fact, delighted, and flashed him a big grin, and his heart soared. "Hello to you as well," she said, and blushed herself at his own answering smile.