Need

As I tip the bottle of Corona to get the last few drops of the amber coloured ambrosia that is man's answer to life's pains and worries and responsibilities, I instinctively squint my eyes so that I don't get blinded by the my namesake. But it seems as if the day has been tailor made for perfection, a thin veil of cloud has filtered the winter sun's rays just to the point where it looks like a shiny new dollar hung up in the sky yet warm enough to take off the nip in the air. I reach out for another bottle, intending to make a toast to today's perfection, when my eye falls on the red and white checkered picnic mat. As my eye traces the age old pattern, I notice the contrast created by your light blue sundress against the warm reds. Here I am, I think, with the most beautiful woman in the world, blood in my alcohol stream, a perfect sunny day, a perfect place among lush green grasses overlooking the city miles away- what more can a mere mortal man like me want?

I slowly trace a path from your face, down the soft swell of your breasts to your bare legs, folded at the knees and slightly leaning against mine, with the dress bunched up all thanks to my friend Gravity, not revealing but definitely making my eyes wander. I give you a nudge asking if you'd want one. You murmur yes. The laziness of the morning catching up with us after a nail biting, back breaking month of exams. Our well-deserved escape from the confines of the college hostel and classrooms complemented by such a fortuitous weather makes us all more eager to catch the missed out forty winks more than anything else.

I open the chiller and find only one left. So we share, taking swigs out of the same bottle. In silence. Somehow we spend minutes that suddenly pass on to hours in absolute silence, yet in perfect sync with each other. I turn to my left, facing you and suddenly overwhelmed by a monstrous feeling of longing I drape my arm just below your breasts and snuggle up to you, nuzzling the side of your neck, yet not really kissing. If you are startled, you don't show. And amongst the countless heartbeats that slowly synchronizes from two rhythms to one, we fall asleep.

I wake up sometime later. I discover two things: that the sun has well past near its prime and is now drooping towards senescence. And that you haven't moved away, rather cradled my head in your arm and slipped another over mine.

I'm washed over with a sudden sense of fulfillment. I take a moment to take in my slice of heaven on earth. I look at your face. So close to mine. Unruly curls framing it beautifully, framing an expression of bliss. My arm moves a up and down in a lethargic manner along with the little movements of your chest, signifying that we are still alive. Not in heaven yet. Yet? Well it can't get any closer than this.

I look back and see you looking a me. Lips parted. Slightly. My breath suddenly get laboured. Slightly. I move forward. So do you. Slightly. Decreasing the space between us by a microscopic variable. I don't know whether moments or millennias passed like this. But we don't kiss. As if kissing would ruin the magic.

There's that urge back again and I envelope you in a bear hug and I'm pleasantly surprised to find you hugging back tighter.

There's nothing sexual in this. But it is as if I get flooded with relief and ecstasy, a mind numbing sensation.

The sounds of drunken revelry reach us, floating up the slope of the land. We should get back. But somehow it feels unimportant. Everything does. Us included. It is as if we had bid reality adieu for some precious never to come back moments and we were clinging on to its fading remnants.

"We need to go back", you say finally, breaking out of our reverie.

I don't move, neither do you.

"I wish I could dance with you someday." I say out almost to myself.

"I'd like to dance with you someday. A room with a view. A window, framing the Parisian night sky, or maybe an all-encompassing view of the New York bay. The red wine in the delicately carved flute glasses coinciding with the warm red satin of your gown. A soft lilting voice in the background, almost imperceptible against the lub-dubbs of our respective hearts. A choking, mind numbing, undescribe-able sensation coursing through our veins. My left arm cradled around your delicate waist, my right trapped in yours, my eyes lost in the deep, bottomless pools of your eyes, my heart skipping beats while cavorting with yours. A spin, a lean, an almost trip, a tipsy laugh, a dazzling smile, a beauty in my arms. We near the end of the song, but it's as if we're dancing to a different tune. I draw you close, your head resting on my chest, privy to my heartbeat. We sort of hug, we sort of dance. Each gradually enveloped in a warm, fuzzy halo of simple, uncomplicated sense of wellbeing and satisfaction. You look up to me, so mesmerisingly, so hauntingly beautiful. Restraint and logic were two foregone constraints from the first pirouette. As I drink in this heavenly sight, greedily, not wanting to leave anything untouched, unattended to, like a slave bound by love, bound by happiness. I wish that you were mine. A wish earnestly insisted upon through every sway of the hips, through every touch, relayed upon raw tingling nerves. We move, almost none at all, swaying to some yet to be composed melody, wanting to create our own, yet too hurt, too afraid to ask, to risk, to fall. To throw ourselves into a leap and have none to break the fall."

You get up first. Hair tumbling around you. I capture with my eyes a picture perfect moment.

"Let's."