Imperfect Perfection

I saw the light stray, I saw it drift and dance across your finger tips as you flung yourself towards the uncertainty of the painted night sky. I could see your eyes rolling through with mine as we took in the mist of the calm, the beauty of our senses interlocked like timid fingers. We called out and swayed in the breeze of temptation and collapsed under the crush of a budding love. It seemed timeless and frozen, as if we could pick it like an apple from a tree. With my hands on your waist and your lips at the nape of my neck I held you, feeling the cold night air, feeling the warmth of your breath, we were lost in this cataclysm of emotion. All at once, in a singular motion, life shifted, future began to shade into reality and into present. It tiptoed right behind us, smiling all the while, gently snickering over our lack of perception. It tickled our shoulders, it danced down our spine, and we melted, both in to one another, two now to one. Our horizon began to shift, become closer, and in all of its static became a faux picture of what could be and what should be. We closed our eyes and imagined, in our own way, what that picture had become, both with our own strokes of our own brush. While separate, and different, the pictures were similar, and in that moment we knew that we would continue together, that we would take a hand to the handle of a singular brush and begin to orchestrate our canvas together. And as it was, we would make a perfect imperfection, through the hope of our tears, the determination of our pain, the inconsistency of our happiness, and wrap it all in a blanket of joy.