By Myself

Her mood was precocious and her fingers, restless. Every ounce of her body seemed to want to express itself in motion, as if there was music inside of her; a steady rhythm, a deep bass line punctuated with percussion. Her hips moved but she wasn’t dancing. She smiled for no one but herself in this moment and it was exactly how she wanted it to be. In an alternate reality, if the cosmos had been slightly more aligned, he may have experienced her in this mood this evening – if he had wanted to. She felt more content than ever that it did not matter anymore. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t there. She closed her eyes and found it was not dark. There was a joy inside of her that she wanted to touch – to hold for a while and run her fingers over and around it; wanting to experience it fully and to examine the color and light that reflected from its surface. She wanted to bite into it, and know what happiness tasted like in its middle. It had a smell of something familiar – something warm and rich with spice, and the scent seemed to embrace her; to hold her with the intimate force of a love that was strong, unadulterated, and unashamed. The invisible had become illuminated in the mirror of her heart, uncovering the etching of her sentience, and revealed through a caress; like the gentle rubbing of dark charcoal – lifting a shape that she remembered. It was her quiet, gentle and cozy self. And as her restlessness turned to profound calm, she felt herself at the center – and reached inward to return the embrace.