Reaching for the Dawn
It’s getting chilly. I wrap my arms around myself and subconsciously rub them, trying to smooth out the goose bumps that are rapidly forming on my skin. The spring breeze is kissing my cheeks roughly. I blink against the wind. I exhale. I can see my breath dissolving. Behind me, he gently places his hands on my shoulders. He lowers his arms and wraps them around my own. He feels so warm and comforting, like an used blanket. How can guys always be so warm? I don’t get it.
“You smell good,” he breathes against my ear. It feels tingly. I feel my ears heat up. It must be because he’s breathing hot air next to it. It’s definitely not because he’s whispering.
I want to shrug him off. I’m still mad at him. But my body is not following. It must be because it wants to stay warm. It’s definitely not because it wants to remain in his embrace. Because I’m still mad at him.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still mad at you. And you’re not going to sweet-talk your way out of it.”
“Out of what?” His face is now next to mine, his chin resting on my right shoulder, his left cheek against my right cheek. His face feels even warmer than his body. I momentarily forget what he just said. I frown and shut my eyes. I say nothing.
I know it’s stupid, but it still doesn’t stop me from being mad at him. I know that in the end, I’ll have to own up to my own insecurities and irrational fears and inevitably forgive him, again, for something he never did. I’ve lost count of how many times this has happened. I hope he has lost count too.
“It’s late,” I say in place of having nothing relevant to say. But it is. It’s nearly dawn, though the skies are still dark and adorned by clusters of stars, twinkling here and there. In a moment, the clouds are going to peek through with colors, singing the prelude of sunrise.
“Remember how you always say you don’t give a shit about stars? How it’s been so overly romanticized that it’s lost its meaning?”
I guess I’m not the only one saying irrelevant things.
“Uh-huh.” I reply cautiously, expecting him to come up with some nonsense attempting to change my mind.
“Well, I don’t either.”
“Way to be a romantic boyfriend,” I scoff. This is not helping with me being mad in the first place. “So can we go in now? I’m freezing my ass off.” He was the one that wanted to come out, sit on the porch and watch the stars until we fall asleep. Now this initially romantic idea seems even more preposterous after I got mad at him.
“You know, there are certain things that we do in a relationship that seem totally pointless, like shopping for furnitures together, cooking a meal together, visiting the in-laws that we both are not so fond of, whatever. But we do it anyway, because we have to if we want to make it work.”
I turn around and look at him, my eyes widened, at once surprised and perplexed.
“So you don’t have to care about the stars, but let’s stay until dawn, okay?”
His words settle into my heart like million pieces of sincerity, forming a shape of unselfishness.
“Okay.” I open my arms and hold him, my hands locking behind his back. “I’m sorry.” My words are muffled against his chest, but I will them to travel into his heart. He just holds my head, and I know it doesn’t matter anymore.
Then, the skies open up in overlaying shades of purple, red and orange. And it dawns upon me that I’m willing to watch the stupid stars any night just to make it to this moment.