An Untitled Love Scene

"I always wanted to be in one of those epic romances, where everyone else would be jealous of how we loved one another."

"We already are." I told her.

And it was true. Everything I told her was truth incarnate. She nuzzled the top of her head even closer up against my neck, her frizzy hair tickling my cheek. I brushed it back and lifted my chin a bit to hold it down.

Our arms tightened around one another, bodies incrementally getting closer and closer, always seeking to remove those last shreds of space between us. Legs wrapped and entwined, the sheets draped and tucked here and there. We were perfect beauty, a monumental union.

I splashed water on my face and ran my hand through my course hair. A haircut was long overdue, and a shave was even more so. The homeless look was more than a mere act, it had been my life for so long, that now, looking up at the mirror I tried to place the man beneath all that rough mess.

I suppose it was a matter of time. 'No time like the present', as my mother would say. I took out her buzzer and scissors and began the long process of reclaiming my place among civilized society, one snip at a time. By the time the sink was filled with the equivalent of three wigs, I smelled the coffee and bacon wafting from under the bathroom door.

Satisfied with my hacking and slashing at my head and face, I came out to show my new self off. She was absently whipping eggs up in the pan as I sat down at the table.

"Smells delicious baby." It really did.

She glanced over her shoulder, a sly smile sliding alongside her, and her eyes danced across my haphazardly clean shaven appearance. A chuckle, or perhaps more a giggle, was let loose and her body bucked a bit.

"You missed a spot." From smile to grin. A knowing look, an escaping sigh.

We sat and ate in silence. Occasionally one of us looked up, drawing the other's attention, pulled into a stare which we took turns breaking away from with a half-heartedly stifled smirk. We were playing at being bashful, our souls already having fully engulfed each other.

What can I say about this feeling? It's love, it's communion, it's connection, it's everything that makes life worth living. I try not to question it but it feels important that I understand it. There's something about the way I feel when I'm with her, it feels like the reason I exist.

I sit in the tub soaking, and she dips the straight razor into the warm bathwater, cleaning the foam and chin whiskers from its blade. She motions upwards with her eyebrows and a subtle lift of her chin. I lift my head and she places her fingers gently against my throat, before sliding the edge of the razor downwards.

"There. All done." She leans back taking in her handiwork. "Though I will miss that beard of yours mister."

And I'll miss it as well. I find myself running myforefinger and thumb down my chin to find only skin. For years I would sit idly and stroke the stream of hair stemming from my face. Looking out on life as it sped by me in shiny silver cars, invisible to passersbys, camouflaged in urban hippie garb.

But I was no hippie. I was no one. I was only lost. Lost and alone. And quite often cold, despite the warmth my body could produce. A shiver often took over me and I tasted copper as my teeth chattered, imagining myself floating aimlessly through the dark matter of outer space.

My belly was full. My person was clean, presentable. I still held onto my sanity. And as I rose from the water and this woman looked me up and down, pure Christmas Morning/Birthday Surprise joy (as she called it) beamed from her.

"Let's get you dressed." She held out her hand. "We have a life to go lead."

I took her hand. "Together."