Symbols of the Soul

-Demon Faith

CATEGORY: Romantic Fluff (of the S/D variety); Sequel to ‘In the Silence’

DISCLAIMER: Don’t own, wouldn’t want the hassle.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Was reviewing some of the old SDR posts and found that Mel actually wanted more of this. So, this is for Mel – and for me, because I deserve it.

I touch the markings gently, possessively, wondrously. Some hand from the past crafted this, in reverence, in wonder, in awe. Now, I look upon them and all I see are little scratches in the rock.

Signposts to the truth, markers along the way, ways to remind you of everything and nothing? I sigh, wondering to myself about everything and nothing, about her.

I glance away from the markings, and across to her. She is asleep in our bed, peaceful and calm, not noticing that I have left her as she clutches at the sheets. I try to drag my eyes away, but I can’t. So, I watch her, and listen.

I can hear each breath leave her lips, a small sigh, before slowly she draws breath, as if savouring the sensation of air entering her lungs. I stand slowly, still holding my stone, and sit on the edge of the bed. Closer now, I reach out and gently touch her chest, feeling her heart beating in time with mine. I draw my hand away, and continue my watching.

I look back at the ‘symbols’, and suddenly they are clear. Slowly, I turn the stone and before me is a picture, made of chisel markings, of a woman beautiful and gracious. She is sleeping, like my Sam, but her hair falls in waves across her body, covering her nakedness yet drawing out her beauty. I rise slowly, realising this marker, this signpost, is merely a moment of time depicted on stone. There is no ‘meaning of life’ here – except for one man’s meaning, his raison d’être, his signpost to Heaven and every place in between.

I look back at Sam, to see her eyes open and watching me, her lips upturned in a curious smile.

“What are you doing, Daniel?”

“Just…looking for symbols.”

She takes the stone from my hand, and studies the picture, before looking up at me with amused eyes.

“Symbols in a portrait?”

“Not for me.” My symbol is right here with me.

“Then, come back to bed.”

I move the portrait back to the table, and return to my Sam. I look at her, memorising every detail, every marking, every symbol. Because I don’t want to lose my meaning. I don’t want to lose her.

Beyond Sunrise