Magic
When two people meet and fall in love, there’s a sudden rush of magic. Magic is just naturally present then. We tend to feed on that gratuitous magic without striving to make any more. One day we wake up and find that the magic is gone. We hustle to get it back, but by then it's usually too late, we've used it up. What we have to do is work like hell at making additional magic right from the start. It's hard work, but if we can remember to do it, we greatly improve our chances of making love stay.
She looks up from her book, heart heavy and mind buzzing, repeating the words she just read over and over in her head. She stares ahead unfocused, watching the gentle July breeze comb through the blades of yellowy green grass. Bumblebees jump from flower to flower, birds chirp happily and the aroma of morning dew sits light in her lungs when she inhales. It’s all so peaceful.
It’s hard work, but if we can remember to do it, we greatly improved our chances of making love stay.
The words speak to her, yell for her attention and she makes a home for them somewhere in her heart. This means something she’s yet to discover, she’s sure. So she tucks then away somewhere in a corner for safe keeping, to remember when the circumstance demands her to.
A sort of gravitational pull magnetizes her gaze and locks it on him. Naturally, her heart swells.
There’s a tuff over his eyes but he’s so engrossed in the small world he’s holding, ingrained in bold, black ink on yellowed paper, that he does not notice. His eyes jump from comma to period to exclamation mark, fixed on this small form of escape.
They look especially green today. Maybe it’s the grass that’s caught her attention and reflects on his pupils, or maybe it has nothing to do with that, but they look earthy and deep, eyes of someone with far more experience than a seventeen-year-old should harness.
His fingers hold the book closely, delicately, similar to how he held her last night, like he can’t bear to have anything happen to it while it’s in his arms.
When two people meet and fall in love, there’s a sudden rush of magic.
There sure is. She feels it in the beat her heart skips when she remembers the night before. She sees it in his bright eyes when he looks back at her, sees in in the pull and tug she feels in her chest for him. She kind of wants to curl close to him now, and, though she doesn’t want to tear him away from his book, technically nothing stops her.
So, she shifts a little closer to him and leans her arm against his own, bending her knees and letting them rest on Sam’s outstretched legs. He only looks up for a moment to smile at her with that heart-warming toothy grin of his, then goes back to his book and, okay, she can’t help herself. She drops a small kiss on his shoulder, leaning her head against it. His hand falls on her knee then, thumbing the skin under the cut of her flowery sundress, warm and solid, and her heart beats just a little faster.
It’s a few minutes before, “How am I supposed to concentrate with you so close huh?”
His arm wraps around her waist and she sighs into it, eyes meeting his.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she murmurs and raises a single eyebrow challengingly. He smiles in response, softly at first, then it grows into something eager and teasing and up to no good. She sees the shift, sees the trouble she just got herself into. “Sam,” she warns. He hums.
In rapid succession, he pulls both books from them and tosses them behind him, puling her close. She squeals and laughs as he buries his nose in the crook of her neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin. Pale hands entangle with his hair, hold the strands between her fingers.
“You asshole,” she accuses laughing. “You lost my page!” Sam bites at her collar bone playfully. “I’m sure you’ll manage,” he mocks and she slaps his back with a huff, because what a dork. Her body betrays the grudge she was planning on holding, legs falling open. He wedges himself between them, one arm never leaving her waist, the other crawling on her thigh, blazing a trail that causes goosebumps to appear all over her skin. He pulls back for a second and the playfulness stills, eyes falling on hers, then trailing lower to her lips, fingers still moving on her bare skin.
He dips down and kisses her and she relaxes, sighs into his soft mouth. She melts in his arms.
They stay there for a while, lazily kissing and touching each other, affectionate as ever, simply having nowhere else to be. The lay in the simple act of kissing, in the quiet of the mountain, the warmth of their skin.
Eventually she pulls back and looks at him, gaze glazed over and drunk on him. Her eyes dance between his. Soon her hands cup his cheeks, ever so gently, and her lips descend on the bags under his eyes, so, so softly. One and then the other, his eyelids fluttering close, lashes brushing on her lips and then she pulls back again. His eyes open.
“I love you,” he says, and she decides, then and there, that nothing feels more like magic than the blooming feeling she gets in her chest after those words fall from his lips.
