Love unchanged...

He held out a hand into the space between them, fingers scissored. She took a step forward, and held her own hand up. Pressed it against his, fingers matching. Palms joined. His hand was warm against her cold one. His fingertips protruded above her own.

She leaned forward. Pressed her mouth against each tip. Felt her breath fan against her skin. She did not meet his gaze, though she could feel his eyes on her face. Rather, she focused on the mole at the tip of his index finger, the curve of his callused thumb. The nail, how it appeared chewed. A new development.

She finally rested her mouth in the crease between their thumbs and index fingers. Allowed herself to be sucked in by the tide of memory that washed over her.

Did he have any idea what it was like to awaken in someone else’s dreams? She’d been waking in his since the day he walked away. The day she’d stood, a wind tugging at her dress, watching him grow smaller. He never looked back.

The memory was still enough to cause a sob to catch at the back of her throat.

He would go again. She knew that as certainly as she knew how much it would hurt.

“Stay…” She felt the words against her hand. Alarmed, she sprang back.. She had not meant to say them.

She searched his face, hope written in every line on her own.

He had aged. Graying temples. Laugh lines. The ridges on the sides of his mouth more pronounced. Each telling her of the time they’d spend apart. But his eyes. The same. Deep. Dark brown. Apologetic.

She swung around, stifling a sob, swiped angrily at the tears that dared leak. Wrapped her arms around herself.

“Why did you come back?”

She waited. Silence.

And then his arms were around her, his chin resting atop her head. His smell overwhelming her. She resisted her body’s urge to melt against him. Held herself rigid.

“I came to say goodbye…”

She felt the words vibrate within her. Felt herself crumple.

For an instant she saw them as they once were.

She felt once again the strong forearm that she’d run a hand along, the hair tickling her palm. The pressure of his mouth on her own. His breath hot against her lips.

The feel of his hand on her thigh. The grass that ticked her ear as she’d lain beneath the Dogwood, its branches heavy with a blanket of white flowers.  The wind that had moved, keeping time with them, raining a thousand flowers onto their bodies. The perfectly blue sky that had winked at her between the dancing branches.

She’d planted a Dogwood in her garden after he left. Little did she know it symbolized a love that remained unchanged through adversity. Did she really want that chain?