"Oh, thank goodness."He wasn't thinking right, moving right or speaking right. He stroked thesoft tissue of his neck looking for another wound, but he found onlysmooth flesh. In his mind's eye, there was a piece of metal sticking outof his neck he hadn't noticed, but in reality there was only a normalneck.It didn't explain why his voice sounded so weird.He crushed the crystals in his hand and slurped from the released water.He wasn't thirsty. Not at all. But it wasn't that hot. And he wasn'treally tired, despite the fact that he'd been walking for a very longtime.Then an inkling, a little gremlin of a thought appeared somewhere deep,but rising fast.He crushed the crystals in the ground until a pool of water formed. Hecleared a place and waited for the water to settle, for it to form areflective surface, then he bent over and checked the bloody wound on hisforehead.He stared for a very long time.The inkling, the little gremlin of a thought pushed out the first worry,this time repeating. ’ And he shudders. More fool are we. We blame the pull, the completeness, on desperation. Loneliness. The moon, the tide, anything. Anything at all. But not that. Happiness is something earned and to have anything greater than the knowledge of this man would be more than my life has been worth. But I see his eyes. I know his thoughts. I just pray he learns the fallacy. That, without pain, he learns that I have nothing to offer, nothing to give in return for the beauty he has shown me. I feel his touch again, losing myself to what it brings. And I tell him, ‘It’s skin deep. Simple physical attraction.’ And he closes his eyes. The bind that ties us brings us together even while we deny that it’s there. Static electricity, circumstance. Again, loneliness. But not that. Then I feel his touch once again and I lose myself, drowning in his soul, always just beneath the surface, giving over all that I can, breaking my heart again, all just to feel his magic, his heart, one more time. I dream.
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