Coming Home

Chapter 13 - Logan

I watched her silently as she slept, giving in to my desire, the burning need to touch her. I let my hand trail over her silky soft curls, the exact same colour as the sky at midnight.

I had missed her so much, dreamed of her, thought of her every minute of every day, I would pick up the phone to ring her, ask her what she wanted for dinner, to tell her that I loved her or to just hear her voice, only to remember that I couldn't. I hated myself for leaving her, never had I felt so...broken. A part of me had been left incomplete, my soul left as a half of a whole that only she could complete. She had been my first and only love. I could not let her go.

She stirred in her sleep, moaned softly, for a second I thought she had woken up; I panicked, trying to find an excuse, a reason for me to be in her room whilst she slept, but she was still deeply asleep.

She sighed; I wondered what she was dreaming about. Did she call up dreams of our time together as I did? Did she dream about that picnic we had in a deserted field in the middle of summer, the stream trickling gently and the grasshoppers chirping, hidden in the long grass? Did she dream about the late summer evening I had chased her through a wheat field, of how we had laughed and kissed and made love in the long grass?

Did she know how much I loved her? I told her, I had let myself slip and I had told her.

Did she still love me? Was I too late?

"I love you" I heard myself whisper. I should not love her; it was too late for me.

My hand closed around the ring that sat in the pocket of my jeans. Soon, I told myself. Very soon.