Forever Knowing Nothing

(A short practice in story writing)

It was a night quite like tonight.  The cold had a snap to it, but the night was clear.  It was a Saturday, no, a Sunday.  We had just finished dinner at a Mexican restaurant on Main, our legs had been intertwined sheepishly under the table as we laughed like kids and shared tortilla chips.  

We had taken to our usual drive up the hill, when we pulled off to the side road to do what lovers do on nights like these.  The view of the city beyond was pleasant, one of the rare, fogless nights.  I coyly traced out a shape that the lights made around a dark area, noting it be the shape of a heart as we stood together bundled in our coats.

And it was at that moment when you were standing behind me as I observed a far lighthouse did you throw your arms around me.  Wrapping each around my chest and grabbing hold of one another for a strong grip, and you tightened.  As you pulled me closer you said, “I just realized that you were right.”  Disarmed, I question what I possibly could have been right about.

And then you said it. 

“Whenever I’m feeling insecure.  Whenever I’m feeling down.  Whenever I’m afraid of losing you…”

“I shouldn’t push you away.  I need to pull you in close.”  

And you demonstrated.

“I need to show you my love.”  He whispered.

“And that’s what I’m doing right now.”

And that’s what you did.