From my Diary

An Excerpt:

I wake not knowing what it was that stirred me from my slumber.

Without moving, I try to feel the room around me, searching whatever it may have been. The cool night air gently stirs the sheer curtains that frame the open balcony doors. Outside the night is peaceful, quiet and perfect.

The room itself is still draped in darkness. The only sounds come from my own breathing and that of my lover. We are still lying in our bed, she on her right side and I curled up behind her nestled against her back, my arms embracing the only one I live for. Her strength amazes me. Yet she feels safer at night when I curl up behind her and hold her close as we sleep. We all have our scars after all, don’t we?

I feel her shudder. It is quick and soft, but I know she’s dreaming, having another nightmare. Her breathing is only slightly labored. My hand, which is nestled between her breasts, feels her heart quicken and her skin grow warm and slick with sweat.

It is almost absurd to me that this strong, ass-kicking woman is haunted at night by the demons of her past. She deserves so much better. She is the bringer of light into my world after all.

It is not the first time and will not be the last. My heart yearns to take her pain away, but I know that all I can do is hold her a little tighter, move a little closer, and whisper loving words in the dark night hoping to ease her dreams, turn her nightmares to loving dreams, and be there for her if she wakes and needs me. She reaches for me in her sleep, pulling my arms even tighter around her, easing my hand up to her lips, breathing in the scent of my perfume. Or so I like to think. She shifts back against me and our legs intertwine needfully.

It’s the touch of our flesh, the feel of our love that calms her most trouble nights. Or so I like to think.

I know her well, my love and heart. I know when the nightmares end and she returns to blissful slumber. She calms, of course. Her breathing eases and the tension in her strong, sensuous body ebbs. I like to imagine a small smile graces her lips as her dreams turn to blissful loving ones of me. Or so I like to think. Of course I can only see her unruly blonde hair, her tiny and totally nibble-icious ear, her long graceful neck and the soft and gentle curve of her jaw.

As she drifts deeper into blissful dreams I silently thank god that I am the one to help ease her pain, and I can’t help sometimes but to rejoice that I can give back to her in some small way.

Often, as my eyes grow heavy and I succumb as sleep takes me, I could swear I hear her whisper “Thank you, my love.”

And my life is complete.