Somewhere, Someone.

Somewhere, Someone.
Lee.

At the water’s edge she watched the sky which seemed lower than normal; low enough that if she stretched she could touch it, so she tried. Her finger tracing the constellations, those that she knew, whilst the cool water murmuring sweet nothings, was bliss.
“If you could go anywhere, where would you go? she asked, just as she finished tracing ‘The Plough.’
Without pause for thought, as though he was expecting the question, “to a simpler time,” he said. “That’s where I’d go.” Now it was his turn to sky watch. 
“A place where what you need is enough,” he quietly said, almost a whisper. “Where love isn’t sacrificed for obsession; when peace of mind is a staple of your diet and not a luxury meal,” then sighed heavily, “you know what I mean?”
She didn’t. Life was already too simple, too mundane for her liking. She leaned back onto her elbows then turned to face him. The final glow from the setting sun cut across her face, adding a golden fizz to her cola-coloured eyes.
“Have you ever known such a place?” she asked.
“No. Never.”
“So how do you know it exists?”
“I don’t,” he said. “But it’s in the movies I watch and the books that I read.” He now stared across to the other side of the river bank where birds were using the willow branches overhanging the water as a strafing platform for their evening fish, or insect hunt. “I can only hope. I’ve had everything else you could think of though, and everything else was either too much or too little, both ends of the spectrum being burdens in their own way.”
“Only you could, no, would, say that. Why couldn’t you just say, ‘anywhere, as long as it’s with you, eh?’ Just any old cliché? Just something meant for me? Why aren’t you normal,” she pleaded.
“Hmmm…what is normal? I don’t understand. I already thought that I was and that you liked,” he shrugged, “this?”
“Well you’re not and I don’t, I do, but…” she toyed with the stem of the marigold rooted behind her ear.
There were many words to follow, but instead she chose to let him have his moment whilst her thoughts simmered.
“And,” he stretched the word like an elastic band, “everything I do and say is meant for you,” before leaning onto his back, resting his head into finger-knitted palms, “but sometimes it’s not what you want to accept or to hear, or it’s never enough for you, but still, you’re my alpha and omega; my beginning, my end, my normal…”

Somewhere in the world, fingertips trace the constellations in the heavens above.
Somewhere in the world, confessions are spoken but not heard.
Somewhere in the world, someone dares to be normal…