Week 43: A retelling of a recent Hollywood movie.
There’s this man and he’s quite perfect, let’s be honest.
Not in the sense that he has no faults, he has them and there’s plenty to go around, but that’s characteristic of an ordinary, down to earth human being. He’s not perfect for me, I don’t believe that’s entirely possible to find someone that’s absolutely suited to one person. What I mean is that he’s perfectly imperfect, he has flaws, he has quirks, he makes me mad, he makes me laugh and cry. He does all of those things.
Most of all, he makes me happy.
He saved me whenever I needed it, even if I didn’t want it. The thugs that would beat on me because I was small, he sorted them out. Through the war, he was there, even when I was a little bigger and stronger. And then after seventy years in ice and water, after corrupted serums and a metal arm, he is bigger than me again. And though I don’t need anyone to save me, he needs someone to help him. He may not want it, or think that he deserves it. But to me, he deserves everything good.
He’s my best friend. I love him.
I love him when he holds my hand and tugs me into his arms. I love him when we slip under smooth sheets and covers, I love him when he kisses every inch of my body, murmuring praise after praise. I love him when he makes love to me, when he takes his time, he always does. Treats me like I’m something precious, not because I’m weak or breakable, but because I mean that much to him. I love him when he slides into my body and makes me feel whole. I love him when the moon rises and the sun sets and we kiss in a haze of golden passion and breathless moans.
He is my forever, as I am his.
Without each other, we don’t make sense. We’re lost men, out of time, place and year. We don’t look quite right alone, he completes me in a way that doesn’t hinder me, but rather pushes me up higher and him the same. And when I’m with him and he’s kissing me, I feel like nothing can touch me. I feel safe, underneath him, with his strong arms bracketed around my head, with his lips on my skin.
I’m never letting him go. And I pray to God, we’re together ‘till we’re grey and old. ‘Coz, I don’t think I could take another seventy years apart.