Is there a story here...?

I'm not counting, but time stretches between us, separating us even when we are close enough to touch. I am constantly aware of you, my mind reaching out to touch you, find some sense of what you're thinking, feeling, experiencing. And in the meantime, I pour those emotions into the writing, making love to you with words since I cannot make love to you with my body.

You infuse my body, my mind, and my soul with a conflict of feelings, first searing me with passion and then filling me with contentment and peace and love. It's disconcerting and exciting and loving and pain all rolled into one.

So, today I wrote more scenes of passion flaring between two people, the scenes building in my mind from a word or a thought, growing from the core of emotion and passion that burns me in unquenchable flames. I immerse myself in you, call you by different names, and yet they are all you. The clear hazel fires that burn in your eyes between the dark fringes of your lashes. The crooked smile that sparks my nipples erect and races along my skin and into the deepest chambers of my heart. The open honesty of love that spears my heart and holds me prisoner. All of them, from the touch of your skin against mine, your touch setting fire to my nerves and body, starting the fountain that opens the way to join us and bind us in pleasure that is so much more than mere pleasure. Through it all, you are here, your hands on mine, your lips a fiery line from my neck to my shoulder and trailing down my spine. I reach for you with words since I cannot reach for you with my arms.

I seek you in dreams and sleep, connecting with the warmth and love I feel every time I taste your name on my lips and feel your heart beating in time with mine. My body aches for you and my soul yearns to be joined with yours. But I know I must wait and wait I do, impatiently at times, but ever hopeful.

Reading Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine, I read one of the little vignettes of the small town of Green Town about an 80+-year-old woman and a young 20-something newspaper reporter. He fell in love with her picture before he realized it was a very old picture, but they became friends, sparking town gossip because they sat and talked over tea and biscuits every day for weeks. On his last visit to her, she signs and seals a letter in a blue envelope and tells him when he gets it she will be dead, but for him not linger more than 20 years and to make sure he dies in his early 40s of pneumonia so that come 1985 or 1990 they can get the timing right and be together as they should have and seemed to have missed the second time around. she says he will order some exotic flavor of ice cream and a girl just the right age will comment. They will talk and it will be their time because they have come around again, gotten the timing right, and they will have their time together without age or circumstance between them. That begs for a story. That screams for someone to take the story to its conclusion and bring these star and time-crossed lovers together where they should have been all along.

Don't you agree?