Sometimes I Write Things

Fluff Over Circumstance

Martin laid on the bed in a still silence. All of his strength had fled from him several times over by this point, but he was unwilling to allow its permanent departure. He wanted to live, and thus he would will himself back to life. Nonetheless, the effects of the stroke had left him once again incapacitated, and his longing for mobility was rivaled only by his gladness to be in a clean hospital bed, rather than the dank and dirty quarters at the prison. He closed his eyes and laid his left hand over his aching body. If only God would rescue him... though, in this case, the disease itself might have been a sort of rescue. There, in the hospital, his accusers could neither torture nor torment him.

He heard the faint click of the door as it opened, its slow creak, and then its latching again, but he was far too weary to reopen his eyes. All of his strength had fled again, and he was yet to recollect it — though, he would. The sound of footsteps approached, and Martin strained to answer the familiar padding. No words would come, in spite of his attempts, and he surrendered himself to this state of not knowing. Whoever it was, whether friend or enemy, he would receive them with grace, so his heart decided.

Then, all at once, and much to his appreciation, the unexpected happened. The stranger touched his face with a touch so kind and delicate that it could only be the act of one, and then the blessed lady kissed his lips with a love most impassioned and pure.

Martin opened his eyes, his strength rushing through him like adrenaline at the touch of her hand and the sweetness of her lips. "Ruth," he mouthed, and he raised his hand to touch her beautiful face. "My love..."

She smiled at him, a wholly involuntary reaction to his words, and laid her forehead on his.

They gazed into each other's eyes, and in hers Martin saw the love and concern his sweet wife carried with her because of him. His heart tore a little at the sight of all her worry, and he ran his fingers through her hair, caressing her head and neck to comfort her.

"My beloved wife..." he whispered. "How I wish that I could take you in both of my arms and hold you against my chest and promise you that all is well, so that you would believe it, and all of these worries would fade like a bad memory of a far off time, covered over by the happiness we know in one another's grasp."

Ruth stroked his cheek, her eyes gazing into his in silence. Again, she kissed him. "Come home," she said at last, her eyes pleading.

Again, his heart broke. He pulled her lips down to him and surrounded them in his, emptying all of his love and passion into her. His chest moved as his heart beat after her to whom his inner being was bound in unity and wonder. When he was done, she laid herself down on him and tucked her head beneath his chin, her silky hair encompassing his neck.

Tenderly, he held her, his arm encircling her fragile frame. His heart beat loudly as pain and ecstasy mingled inside of his chest, her breast pressed on his breast again as in better days. He stared up at the plain, white ceiling, and tears streamed down his face, watering his ears.

God, how he missed her! But he could not hold her as completely as he once had, and he longer for it, for everything that had been so cruelly torn away. He caressed her shoulders and kissed the soft brown hair of her head, now accented with strips of grey. Again and again, he kissed her head, burying his nose in her flower scented hair, and the tears fell from his eyes. "I love you," he whimpered, feeling more desperate and helpless than ever he had. "I have such deep love for you! If only I could express it to you, if only you could fully know how beautiful you are to me and how I treasure you, my sparrow!"

The whole of his body hurt. He ached with desire and a looming desperation. He wanted to be home. He wanted to comfort and cherish her, but here he could not even hold her fully. How weak he was, how helpless, and all that he wanted was to know that he could keep her there with him, but that was a selfish wish, he knew, and it would have been much better for him to have been home with her than for her to be trapped there in custody with him. Even so, as long as they could be together, his heart would not be so tormented.

Ruth raised her head and nuzzled the side of his neck. Her breath on his tender skin tickled and pleased him. Her gentle touch was enough to grant his troubled mind some relief, and he took in a deep breath, his muscles relaxing as he exhaled and his head sunk back into the pillow.

Ruth kissed the underside of his jaw. "My beloved husband..." she whispered in his ear, "you know how my heart is filled with love and worry for you. Don't let your heart become so desperate. I am with you, even in absence. My heart is always with you, and we bear these hardships together, just as always we have."

Martin shook his head in lament. His heart was filled with yearning. "I wish I could hold you!"

Ruth took his face in both of her hands and kissed him. "Martin, you'll be alright. We'll get through this. You'll hold me." She nodded, looking into his eyes as tears welled up in her own. "You'll hold me again, just like you always used to do. But I want you to know, too, that there is no deficiency in you — not to me." She smiled. "I love you."

She hugged him, and the love of her words coursed through his veins like medicine, curing the pain of his heart and granting him assurance.

"My intimate and perfect heart," he whispered.

Ruth's smile spread. "My good and noble husband..."