by G. Alexis Page

Created on: March 23, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

On The Threshold of Fate

A Valentine Dream (Somewhere In Time)

Days have gone by, even months. The last time they physically touched was too brief, too innocent, though the memory of slight flesh upon flesh still lingers as though it were but seconds ago. The moments they shared were shadowed by their own fears and cautions. Yet they were precious, like diamonds sparkling in the sand. Their private glances and racing thoughts were sheltered away: each tucking the minuscule glimpses safely inside. Secretly each wondered if the other was aware. Was the other feeling the same way? Did that person feel that flush, that fluttering and that some how unexplainable bursting? What about that mind thing, the exact knowing what each other was thinking and what their next move would be, what was that, where did it come from? Maybe it was just a moment. Maybe it was just a "thing" that happens on a chemical level. But what if it was more, something more poignant, more dramatic: like "destiny"? Where would this road lead if both dared to step upon the pavement? Dreams begin in such a fashion. Or, are they really dreams? Is it possible that Fate knows the art and mastery of illusion; using such for the expressed purpose of revealing what destiny has had in mind all the while?

In private times, away from each other, eons before ever learning of the other's existence; both had a belief buried deep inside. Both knew there was a passion so intense that the flames of such a desire could create but one thing, completion: their completion. Un-renounced to the other each knew the only way such a passion could ever be unleashed was for a power much greater than themselves to open a door. What was this doorstep, this threshold where both now stood? What was this nakedness, this vulnerability of self that slipped through the bonds of fear? Neither could hear the subtle voice speaking through the electricity filling the air. Yet cords of their hearts were being woven together behind their veils of separate of searching.

She struggled with her thoughts of him, neither for days nor weeks; but for months. Her mind continuously bombarded with his image, his smile. Her inner ears heard the tone of his voice as though soft whispers were gifts left behind by a muse of teasing. She tried to ignore the growing, nagging pain that swelled within her chest. But that once covered hole, the one she so desperately worked at guarding was quickly losing its flimsy disguise. Inch by inch, thread by thread,

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