AND MAYBE

by Eliška-Anna Schneider

And maybe there was silence, and maybe there was a breathy little whisper of 'Just like you,' in response to 'This sunset's beautiful;' and maybe it didn't matter at all, and maybe it mattered more than it should've; and maybe their hands brushing lightly against each other was an accident, and the way their fingers were now interlocked didn't mean a thing, because people hold hands platonically all the time. They knew, though, they knew that all the little touches and glances held far too much meaning to be put into words.

So there was silence, and the sun had gone down completely now, leaving the little mess of tangled fingers and touching thighs that could be the start of something big and beautiful, in complete darkness. They had each other, though, and the light behind their eyes was enough to keep them safe, to keep them sane, and honest--enough to help them find their way home. Home was here--in the very arms of the other, in their smile, in the sound of their breathing, and the way their eyelashes rested atop their cheekbones lightly as they slept; and maybe home had become an intangible thing--a feeling, the feeling they got only when with one another.

And wasn't that dangerous, putting so much trust into one single person? Extremely, but they'd promised not to hurt each other, but deep down they knew that keeping this up would be close to impossible. Right now, though, in the pitch black part of the world, where they were invisible even when holding hands, that didn't phase them. They'd try their hardest, and that was a promise they both knew they could keep forever.