Perspective (MJ)

His Healing

His Healing

I wake up to the sound of soft, angelic twinkles ringing gently and calmly in my adjusting ears. I find that I'm buried deep in my thick duvet, which is only used for extreme cold temperatures, and other thin sheets of vibrantly patterned blankets. Moving my feet around, I also realise that a soft material is covered on my feet. My chest feels a little congested and also warm but it doesn't affect my chattering teeth. I close my eyes again, only to be interrupted by the twinkling which doesn't irritate me but causes me to become more aware of my surroundings.

Small dots of crystal flakes hit softly against the window, some melting away into cascading droplets and some settling on the crystal window pane, creating a mound of glistening cotton. The gentle, magical ambience of this stunning weather gives off a wonderful vibe of relaxation. To lay in the snow with Michael would be magnificent-the comforting feel of snow on our backs, our freezing fingers increasing in temperature at the warmth of our hands rubbing together and our bodies pressed tightly next to each other. Sweet, careful touches, sparkling, butterfly kisses along with the touch of flakes on damp eyelashes.

I remember last night; almost instantly, the temperature had dropped and it began to snow. I went to bed completely shivering. Instinctively, I had worn insulated socks, a knitted jumper and thick trousers. And miraculously(!) I managed to instantly catch a painful cold.

The phone ringing causes me to groan in pain as it affects my pounding headache even more since the high pitched sound is practically torture to my ears. It gets to the point that I couldn't take it and I hastily take the covers away from my body and reach for the phone.

"Hello?" I answer quietly, allowing a few coughs to escape from my burning chest. My heart then soars at the voice that I hear but it shatters at the croaking tone.

"How are you? Are you feeling any better? Jamila told me you weren't feeling well," he says quietly, his tone now a little raspy. The Jacksons had invited Jamila and I to go ice-skating with them today but after this instant cold I received yesterday, which I thought would quickly fade away by the power of bitter liquid medicine, I declined the offer.

"Not so good," I exhale heavily, placing my back on the bed. "Everywhere hurts...especially my chest and head. It aches so badly. I hate having colds."

He laughs beautifully at my complaint. "I hate having colds too. Would you like me to come over?"

"You're too sweet. It's completely fine. How are you? You don't seem that good yourself," I ask, truly concerned about his current health.

"It's nothing. Just a little cold. Are you sure that you don't want me to come over?" he insists sweetly, causing butterflies to rapidly flutter in the pit of my stomach.

"I'm sure. I'm coming over to your home. You seem really ill," I say sympathetically, recalling the moment of where I placed my hands on the skin of his stomach, feeling intense heat hit against my hands. It's heartbreaking seeing him not well.

"Please come over. I want you here."

-

I knock on the door several times, making sure that Michael does know that I made the decision to come over, feeling loved at his pleading of words for him wanting me here. His actions and just him are so beautiful that my heart will constantly pound, flutter and soar at his presence. Michael has a certain way of putting his words in a magnificent way, a way of making you feel special and cared about.

I know he cares about me.

He opens the door slowly, revealing his fatigued posture. His eyes are red and sleepy-a result of him not having enough rest. His arms hang limply at his sides, signalling that he could fall asleep at any minute. He is dressed in a turquoise coloured tight shirt that hugs around his upper body, revealing the skin underneath and the shape, dark blue flared jeans that show the slim shape of his hips. A stylish black studded belt is through the loops of his jeans.