Best View In Town

   My breath comes in quick bursts, with each one forming a little white cloud just past my parted lips. It's dark and very cold and I can already smell the wet dirt. The silence is eerie as we ascend the steep hill and cross the narrow street.
   A fence comes into view and a premature chill runs down my spine. "Just be very quiet. Getting caught would be bad." You murmer into my ear, your warm breath heating my chilled skin. You look around a bit, visibly nervous, before finally announcing that the coast is clear and we aren't going to be caught. You step around me on your long legs, and carefully pull the slightly rotted fence aside for me.
  I shake my head vigorously. Too afraid to enter alone, I wait to follow your lead. Once you have stepped in, you take my hand and lead me in after you. Just as my feet meet the damp, leaf scattered ground, headlights appear in the distance. You close the gate and we duck behind it, our hearts thumping our throats as we wait agnoizingly for it to pass.
   Finally, with my heartbeat still the speed of lightning, we extend back up to our full heights and examine the scene around us. A thin veil of fog covers the ground, hovering above the soaked earth by just a few inches. It is interrupted only by the occassional rectangular monuments of stone, rising from the ground in a ring of fog. Just over the horizon sits the town, lit with Christmas lights. It looks so cheery down there that for a moment, I feel a longing to head back downtown and pretend this never happened.
   But never one to be a chicken like I, you simply squeezed my hand like you were transferring some of your courage to me. "Best view in town," you announced on a single breath, admiring the valley below us. Sensing my worry, you cast your eyes around our direct surroundings once more. "Come on, there's a bench over there. I think you might feel better."
   I bite my lip as you guide me down a path you have long memorized. "Do you realize how creepy it is that you know this place by heart?"
   You laugh that glorious laugh that puts me a little more at ease. "My mom brought me us here about a week ago...". My eyes widen and you laugh again. "Not for that reason! She thought it would be fun. And it is, don't you think?" We reach the bench, which I quickly check to make sure is in fact a bench and not another of the stone markers, and sit down. You place your hand, which is miraculously still warm, on my cheek.
   "It's certainly different..." I reply cautiously, trying to keep my eyes affixed on the town below us.
   "You're freaked out, aren't you?"
   "Terrified," I answer honestly, casting a nervous glance at all the graves. Although the ground hasn't been broken in nearly a century, I'm still scared stiff.
   "Come on then," you say, "let's go back."
   I kiss you suddenly, without warning. "There," I say, pulling back. "Now we've had that famously cliche experience of kissing in a graveyard as teenagers. Someday, you're going to tell your kids about that and I want you to fondly look back and remember the night we had the very best view in town. Deal?"
   "Deal." You say, kissing me again.

Slide Sweetheart

   Static electricity buzzes all around us as our lips meet once more.... This feeling is phenomenal, but sadly, thanks to the twisted priorities of the mind, forgettable. So let's preserve it, shall we?
   I played here as a child. I used to squeal in delight sliding down this very slide, and over there, across the playground is where I broke my ankle. I used to spend long summer days here before walking home holding my mother's hand and returning to my perfect little world back home. This was my favorite place in the whole wide world.
   Now, I find myself in the collision of my teenage and childhood favorite places: your arms and this slide. You pull me a little closer, the movement shifting the static in the tube of this slide and making my hair stand up. A smile spreads across your face, lit with the yellow of the sunshine filtering through the plastic slide. "I look ridiculous, I know." I laugh.
   You smile a little wider and kiss my nose. "No, you always look beautiful to me."

Late Rehearsals Are Killing You

   I hate those deeply carved hollows beneath your eyes. They seem to sneer out at me, in contrast with your steel blue eyes. A violent shade of purple, they taunt me with the physical reminder of how exhausted you truly are.
   As I arrive in the morning, you cannot even get off your feet to greet me, but rather beg me silently with those incredibly expressive eyes to sit beside you. I do, and you say hello with a weak smile and a soft "Morning Sweetie". Your face is distant and blank however, and as you lean your head against my shoulder, I can see how desperately you want to give in to the lethargy.
   Gently, I place my hand over yours, and as your thumb curls around it (you have enormous hands!) I notice how sluggish your movements are. I try to be chipper in my words, but you simply moan and close your eyes. You apologize, but as I see the complete draining of energy in your face, it becomes superfluous. I lean forward so I have a better view of your face, and the dark curtain of my hair swishes to block out the world. My own voice softens to a soothing tone, hardly more than a whisper as I tell you it'll be alright.
   You smile a little, and open your shockingly bright eyes again, gazing into mine. "I know it will," you reply in a low whisper. "I have you here."
   I kiss your forehead lovingly, and even though I loath the indolence you exhibit, I know that I will be there for you. Whether it's Shakespeare or a living person draining you, I will be there for you.

Love, Lilah Belle

Dancing In The Forest

   The room was dark and the faint smell of paint hung in the cool air. The darkness was peaceful, and the warmth of your arms was heavenly. The music softly played in the background, a slow song I didn't know. And as the music played, you begged me to please just dance with you.
   Never the dancer, I cautiously smiled up at you and declined, to which you merely took my hands and started to sway. Firmly at first, I told you no. Even in the darkness, I just couldn't handle the impending mortification that is me dancing. However, as the smell of your skin intoxicated me and your softly worded requests rung in my ears, my resolve broke down.
   Before I knew it, my hips were giving in and I swayed along with you. Then, as if by magic...
   The music moved into a sunnier tenor, and the tempo picked up. The love song reached its height of passion, and your feet took off, leading me into a flawless waltz. The lights raised at that exact moment, illuminating us in the muted aqua shades of the stage lights. Although I knew it was just a set, we were suddenly in an enchanted forest, surrounded by a draping of Spanish moss over the low hanging trees. We were dancing, really dancing, in that magical world that belonged to just us.
   Even when the music stopped and the harsh white stage lights returned to obstruct our view, I still felt the same. Swimming in the deepest of affections I had ever felt, I whispered an I love you to quiet for even myself to hear. But, newly in tuned, you heard me. And, as caught up in the moment as me, you returned it to me in the liquidy smooth voice I love more and more each day.

Love, Lilah Belle

Hell Week

http://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch/?v=GutCmR3yKzg&list=PL6E04F2133EE20A27&index=4&feature=plpp_video


   It's opening week of your production, and the countdown is dwindling, with just three more days of rehearsals until you open. They call this week hell week for all you actors in the show, but I'm discovering that it's hell week for all of us.
   As the deep violet hollows beneath your eyes exhibit, you really are going through hell this week. With rehearsals running late, you've hardly had time to even breathe, much less communicate with me. It's been nearly three days since you and I even had a decent conversation. And when I do see you, you're a zombie, hardly even able to murmer a hello in your exhausted state. It's a wonder you're still on your feet, much less making any effort to interact with people. But you're trying, and that has to count for something....
  And it's only Monday.

Happy hell week, honey. Feel better soon.
Love, Lilah Belle