DANTE
***
Diana laid on top of my chest, her delicate fingers weaved between the spaces of mine and her head nuzzled in the crook of my neck. Her steady but faint breaths filled the quietude of the bedroom.
The oversized shirt that enveloped her frame was the only thing that kept our bare skin from grazing one another. Her leg was lifted, showing more of her upper thigh and emphasizing the dips of her waist to her hip.
With her eyes shut, she spoke to me in a half-asleep state. Her voice carried a soft and almost ethereal quality that soothed my restless nerves. Gentle and hushed with a subtle raspiness that added to its unique allure.
I made sure not to move too much so I wouldn't take her away from her drowsiness. While our fingers were intertwined, my hand was gently clasped around her ankle, my thumb stroking her soft skin.
As she sat there, occasionally she would let out a yawn, yet she continued mumbling about random things that came to her mind in her vulnerable state. Despite her sleepiness, her words were still coherent and I found myself listening attentively, hanging on to every word she uttered. Even though she was sleepy, she still managed to make me crack a smile and laugh at the jokes she made, which only added to the heartwarming quality of the moment.
"You know," she began, her warm breath brushing against my neck, "I think you were always in the back of my mind, even when I convinced myself I had moved on." Her words were tender, filled with raw honesty. "I missed you so much, and even when I came back to Brooklyn, it was hard not to think about you."
I listened intently, my heart swelling with emotion at her confession. As she continued, her voice grew softer, yet every word seemed to resonate in my mind.
"I believe one of the most painful things about not seeing you for so long was not getting to watch you grow into the person that you are now." she sighed, "like a gap in between the time I knew you."
A comfortable silence waiting to be filled took over the air.
"Do you ever think," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "that it was meant for us to find each other again?"
Her question lingered in the air, enveloping us in a moment of quiet contemplation. I felt the weight of her words sinking into my heart, stirring up memories and emotions that were long buried beneath the surface.
In the dimly lit room, with only the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls, I traced the contours of her thighs with my free hand, etching every curve and line to memory.
As I gazed down at her, a surge of warmth flooded my chest, filling me with an overwhelming profound sense of gratefulness. For years, I had carried the weight of our past, wondering if we would ever find our way back to each other. And now, here she was, lying in my arms.
"Yes," I replied, my voice quieter than anticipated, "I do."
The rhythm of my heart accelerated as I looked for the courage within me to be vulnerable and honest with her. "I believe that everything happens for a reason," I continued, my voice growing with conviction, "and that our paths were always meant to cross again. I'm just glad they did."
She curled up closer to me, her warmth seeping into my bones, "Me too."