The world is gone again. It is gone. It is replaced by the bittersweet relief that comes with giving in to desire. The feeling of closeness and comfort, of never being alone again, of feeling a connection that has never been felt before and possibly will never be felt again. The birds exist only in the head, the water is music on a stereo and it’s nineteen-eighty-four. The breeze isn’t a feeling on the skin, it’s an embrace of the soul. Sunshine, glorious sunshine is a God again and the earth does revolve around it. We are the centre of all things; the centre of all beings and we will sacrifice to it.
The sun doesn’t exist as a separate force. We are the sun. There is no existential crisis. There is no need for it. It’s like pushing a boat onto the open sea and only really knowing if it’ll stay afloat when you’ve but people on board. If Noah’s ark could only fit one more human to escape the floods, Noah would pick them. He’d take them as one.
He pulls her closer, his arm on her waist. Her hand in his hair. Time isn’t a thing. It could have been a second, a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year. It could have been a lifetime. It’s an extraordinary achievement to feel every atom of your physical being come to life but to live only inside your head. Her head? His head? They could be the same thing. She loses sense of where their lips touch. They fit so well there is no telling where she ends, and he begins. The dock is gone but it is there. It’s part of the experience and part of nothing. It could be floating on a sea of fire and the only thing they would worry about is that if it broke apart, they would break apart too. All concern for self-welfare is no longer a factor all that remains is the safety of the other. A hand falls to the side and another hand follows, their fingers link together. All concern of everything beyond them is null and void. Nothing else matters. Nothing but two souls on a dock and a drake on a swim with his mate. The universe claps its hands with the enthusiasm of a gymnastics coach whose protégée has taken gold at the Olympic games. It takes all the colours in existence and gathers them into a bouquet. The bouquet is thrown to the players and the dock is the stage, the trees are the curtains. They’re closing to the standing ovation. The sun is the spotlight and it descends below the crowd as the technician demands it to. Even as pain overcomes her and their lips part their eyes never leave each other. They laugh and he traces his finger along her lower lip as though his touch alone could ease her suffering. The gold in his gaze and the green in hers are as together as the mud and the grass.
They exchange the feeling of disbelief and their giggles ring together as bells on a Christmas tree. He rests his forehead on hers. Though they are no longer in an embrace from top to toe, their current hold isn’t unlike that of a pair of swans. The sun beams a ray of approval between them and shrouds them in a halo. Nothing. Else. Matters.
“What in the holy hell is happening?!”
Now it does. Nick and Olivia jump apart and turn to see Emily, standing at the top end of the dock, arms crossed over her chest and an expression that Olivia has never had the displeasure of seeing before. The feeling of hurt is written on every crease of her face. Olivia suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and shame. The universe cringes behind its hands and the sun runs away below the water line, leaving the humans to handle their issues in private. Emily storms away, back up to the house. The three of them can’t be further torn apart if they tried. Olivia decides that if everything is really laid out for us and planned in advance, then someone really has a sick sense of humour. Imagine the very same moment she finds out Nick cares for her the same way she cares for him, she loses her best friend at the very same time.