Page 169 of Paint the Town, Dove
She frowned, as if realizing we were close and it was the most disgusting thing in the world.
I’ve tasted you, I wanted to say.
I love you, I’ve said.
Finally.I took a breath.
Finally.
“Don’t run away, Scarlett,” I whispered. “I know what you’re doing.”
She remained silent, a tense dove in my hold.
“You’re pushing me away, but I’m right here.” I brushed a lock of red from her face. “I know this isn’t us, but maybe it always was” – I scanned her face – “maybe it just took us forever to find out.”
“I don’t…” she stuttered. “I don’t know how to act around you anymore. Idon’t know what we are, what I am to you.”
“You are who you’ve always been,” I rested my forehead to hers. “My Dove.”
“I’m your manager,” she said. “I’m your best friend.”
“You’re everything.”
“This is fast.”
“Not fast enough,” I replied, pulling her back to face me. “I will go at your own pace, I will wait until your red turns to grey but I won’t pretend anymore, Dove.”
All the harsh lines in her face faded, the softness I knew existed beneath her skin barely peeking through.
But it was there.
She’s always been there, waiting, for a moment like this.
I wanted to be the one to give it to her.
I didn’t care about this shit anymore.
Everything felt incomplete, like a compromise given to me if I ran through all the requirements.
She was my chosen rule.
My purpose was song, she was my music.
She was in everything.
It wasn’t fast, it was slow. All the best things are.
Melodies, harmonies, lyrics… art.
Art takes time. Art is patient.
I have been.
I can’t be anymore.
“I need to know you feel something inside, something worth pursuing,” I pleaded, my knees hitting the ground.
Who was I if not a beggar for my Dove?
