Записи с темой: моему мужу (список заголовков)

Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Martha could distinguish whispers but no clear voices: four, maybe five unidentifiable faces were standing in the dark room, waiting. But on the edge of her bed, a familiar warmth and companion.
-It's time… she murmured just for him.
-No, not yet, Thomas leaned to peck her sweaty forehead, Not now, my dearest dear. A few locks of his ginger hair brushed her cheeks and she suddenly wondered when was the last time he left her bedside to rest or refresh. Her lips curled up in a weak smile at his words.
Knuckles whited by the disease, Martha's fingers gripped his sleeve to pull him closer.
-Tom, we… both met Death enough in our lives to recognize when it is coming…
Her chest rose and fell again. He could feel each of her breath on his own lips, each of her breath getting heavier than the previous one, each of her breath killing his sweet Patty.
-… and… I always knew… that I would go before you—
Thomas prayed for her. During hours. Far from any witness eyes. But God, or Fate or whatever the name of the supreme force out there stopped caring about them years ago.

@темы: любовь...., Моему Мужу, sweetheart, split mind, sadness...


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
It was late. At this period of spring the sun started to take its time to go down, as lazy as the poor souls its first warm rays lashed.
Despite the chandelier on the table, his old eyes couldn't read any longer; Thomas carefully placed a paper between the pages and put down the book on his lap where a blanket already rested. It had become a habit -almost a routine- for years to end the day on the terrace behind the house, just a few steps from the open door, a pipe occasionally between his lips.
Two hands marked by the years took his glasses from his aquiline nose, 3 or 4 grey hairs caught in the metallic arms.
Head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes, nothing to listen but the wind of May on the grass and the subtle but regular beating of his heart.
The sky was clear tonight ; tomorrow will be fresh.
"I like what you did with the house…"
A voice…
"Of course there are some colors on some curtains that I wouldn't have chosen but… as a whole, I really like it."
That voice.
He opened his eyes and turned slowly his pupils whitened by the commencement of a cataract. At the other side of the table, a vision: luxuriant auburn hair cascading on her chest, shining hazel eyes focused on his, pink lips slightly open in a gentle smile and a perfect face, frozen in her everlasting 33 year old beauty.
"Am I in Heaven?", he barely spoke afraid to break the spell, whoever put it on him.
Her head shook in a silent 'no'.
"Did I finally lose my mind?"
She chuckled, and this sound made him unexpectedly shiver.
"Not yet."
"Am I dreaming?"
"Oh… do you have dreams about me Tom?"
Tom. Almost forty-four years this word disappeared from his existence. He didn't know he missed those three letters so much 15 seconds ago.
"So I'm in Hell", he concluded. "And you are my eternal torture."
"This is absurd. Why would you end up in Hell?"
"I have some ideas…"
Thomas was a Cartesian man made of logic. Observation. Hypothesis. Experimentation. Result. Interpretation. And every fibers of his being knew she couldn't be in front of him right now. But here he was: completely unable to take his eyes off his Patty.
"You are a good man. But a good man living in a bad and tough time." She reached out her arms over the table and covered his hand with her -soft skin against wrinkled skin- but the warmth was missing.
"And you, you are an illusion my dearest dear. You are the product of my great age, my tiredness, my regrets. You are… not there."
"Does it really matter?"
"No. Not really in fact."
Her fingers intertwined with his. Always the absence of heat but truly, it didn't matter.
"I'm proud of you Tom."
"What do you mean?"
"All the things that you made, for our girls, our country…I'm glad to wear your name," she said as her thumb traced circles over the back of his hand, "I am proud of you."
"How can you know?"
"Because I saw you."
"You saw me?"
"Of course", she offered him a thoughtful smile, "Everything. Every day." and nothing to read but kindliness on her face.
Thomas closed his fatigued eyes and was sure now: a place was waiting for him in Hell. She saw everything. His sweet sweet Patty saw everything.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered.
"For what? For being just… a human being? With qualities and flaws ; with needs ; with a heart, and a body. I died Tom. Not you," and every silence following her words was getting heavier on his chest, "I want you to be happy."
"Happiness run away from my life years ago."
He reopened his eyes. The beautiful torture was still there, a concerned expression on the face and cold little fingers around his.
"Patty please, forgive me."
"I will not give you my forgiveness Thomas, because you did nothing requiring it."
She squeezed his hand with hers once again and let it go.
Each of her movements absorbed his attention: the way she pulled behind her ear locks of auburn hair, the dance of the white fabric around her body and her elegance when she finally sat up like a marble statuette. The apparition walked around the table, making her way to the main door of the terrace, and he knew that at the precise second she went inside the house she wouldn't be there anymore, leaving, one more time.
"Don't go…"
She stopped, just at his side and looked down at him. Oh God… how beautiful she remained. If his body wasn't crippled by the years, he would have fallen on his knees and begged in the ruffles of her dress to not go again. But no. Thomas stayed in his chair.
Gently, she set her hand on his face. The tenderness in her gesture contrasted with the cold of her fingers, but he still didn't mind. Her palm brushed his lips, and he leaned into the touch, remembering every variation of her skin against his ; she whispered:
"Soon, my love…"
She smiled again and he closed his eyes. The contact disappeared in a caress and there was no need to look the emptiness in front of him: Patty was gone. His grey head fell slowly against the back of the seat as his entire body slumping in it. Maybe if he kept the eyes shut enough, he could save this last smile from her, these last words, this last touch… Immobile, Thomas didn't know how much time he rested like this.
And then, a voice again. Feminine. Familiar.
"Father…" followed by a pressure on his arm, "Father." and more alarm in the tone. "Father!"
Lazily he opened his eyes and blinked: same colors as his own, two worried orbs examined him.
"I am not dead yet Patsy…"
"Please don't talk like this," she sighed. The woman offered her arm and helped him to stand, holding the blanket and the book with her other hand. "It's late. You need your rest."
"You are the cane of my old age."
"I know," she added while leading him. "I'm sorry for having woken you. You seemed so serene."
"Contrary to my habit?"
Pasty laughed softly
"I didn't say that,". They passed through the door, "What were you dreaming about?", and got into the darkness of the somnolent house.
"A promise…"

@темы: нежность, любовь...., Моему Мужу, sweetheart, split mind, sadness...


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Martha had fought all day against a headache so horrid it felt as if it might split her skull in two, yet, it wasn’t important: the spinning of the room, the fever, the pain in every muscle and bone… it would all be over soon. They were both so familiar with Death, they knew it was coming.
“Tom…” a weak voice whispered from the bed.
“Yes my dear?”
“I… want you to promise me something.”
Thomas brushed his hand over her curly hair, so red, so colorful in contrast to her almost blue lips and pale grey skin. He lay next to her on the bed and she went on:
“When… you have the desire to get married again, you—“
“I will not get married again.”
A smile appeared on her face at these words. Despite being surrounded by kin and servants, Thomas was so close that this conversation was only theirs. Through the bed sheets, Martha could feel the regular and strong pulse of his heart and the idea of soon being responsible for its breaking devastated her.
“Of course you will, Tom… I did. And it was the best decision of my existence.”
Clouds suddenly blurred her vision, but she could feel tears anyways: his falling hot on her cold skin. Oh how she wished he wouldn’t cry!
“When you want to remarry…”
When it happens,” she continued, one hand caressing Thomas’s wet cheek, the other pressed against his lips by his clenched fingers for a last kiss, “… promise me to be wise in the choice of the Lady. Not for you, but…” she paused once more, trying to catch what breath she could, “but for our girls. I don’t want them to be under the heel of a neglectful and unkind stepmother… I don’t want them to go through what I went through…”
Drained of all her strength, she sighed quietly under his weight. But Martha didn’t care, her Thomas was with her. What else could matter?
“So… just promise me to be careful in your decision, my love.”
He just had to say it.
Three words and she would go peacefully.
“I promise you…” he started and it was enough for her, but he continued, “I shall not remarry.”
A mistake. No, he couldn’t have said such a thing, she just wasn’t hearing properly because of her weakness.
“I promise you I will never marry again,” he repeated, his voice trembling but louder this time, even as he read the confusion in her hazel eyes.
“Why?” she asked breathlessly.
“Because I’m selfish. Because I want you to be the only woman to wear my name. Because you are irreplaceable.”
“It is only your grief speaking, listen to reason…”
“You are my one and only wife, until my last day. I promise.” In a last embrace Thomas held her, carefully, settling his cheek against hers, his lips scant centimeters from the shell of his wife’s ear, and then whispered - cried - begged - into it: “Please my love… take me with you…”
But she was already far away.
Martha said nothing more.
It wasn’t that bad she thought - to die here and now, in this house, in this room, in the arms of this man, and his name as her last word.

She could rest now.

@темы: о нашей жизни, Моему Мужу, Красивое, sweetheart, sadness..., candy-floss


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
"I feel old."

"You’re just tired, Patty…"

For over three months he had been repeatedly saying she was ‘just’ tired, as if a good night of sleep could improve the state of her health. It was a lie. A reassuring lie. They both knew it.

"No. I feel… old," she said again lying in bed, her hands accentuating her words.

And Thomas almost smiled.

"You know, my love", he replied while brushing locks of hair from her sweaty forehead, “the first time I stared at you, really stared at you, your eyes captivated me."

Those eyes frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Their deep hazel color, and… I know it will sound odd, but", evaluating the most truthful words to express his idea, he paused, “I could read dozens of lives in them."

"For a Cartesian mind like yours, it is indeed surprising…" Martha whispered in a giggle.

"In some cultures and civilizations, it is indeed plausible," the lawyer retorted with amusement. “It is just…Your eyes gave me the sensation that they have seen so much, as if there was an old, yet strong soul behind them. One which had lived centuries, through both tragedies and happiness, and had learned just how precious and fragile life is. I couldn’t help it… I saw dozens of lives in this hazel ocean," he concluded.

During his explanation, Thomas’s lean body bent over hers instinctively, without his noticing it, and allowing her thin fingers to caress his lips.

"Then I hope… that I spent all those lives with you," she murmured.

"Of course. That is what soulmates do."

"Soulmates," Martha repeated, a tint of joy in her voice, “Did you re-read Plato recently?"

"You offended me. I know his words by heart."

Softly, her blue-tinged lips curled up.

"So, Tom… if we went through dozens of lives together…what about the next one?"

At her words, a cloud obscured his gaze. She was dying. His knowledge of medicine and science didn’t allow him the illusion of hope, but there was still the vast distance between knowing and accepting the truth.

"It will… be perfect", he confessed, his right hand cupping her face, the other lost in her auburn hair, “Perfect. Made just for us."

"Tell me more about it…"

The room was suddenly stultifying. His eyes glanced upwards and he bit his bottom lip, trying to find help or support from above, but he felt nothing, just her warm and frail breath upon his neck. He looked back down at his dear fallen angel.

"We… we will meet in childhood", he started. “Acquaintances at first, then friends, and finally lovers. My words, my soul, my heart will be filled only by you. After years of courtship and love, we will get married on a sunny day in July. We won’t be rich, neither will we live in poverty", he continued, the words uncontrollably trembling, “We will possess only what we need: a little house, a little garden, books and music, away from the noise of cities, and politics and war. Even perhaps on the top of a little mountain…" His face lit up at this thought and she grinned at his joy. “And we will have children: three girls. Of course three girls… and perhaps a boy. They all will be beautiful and strong. The best part of both of us. The house will never be silent…" He stopped himself, fighting tears in his eyes -a fight he’d begun to lose weeks ago. “We… we will watch them grow up into wise and brilliant adults. Oh, you will be so proud! Our children. And… our… grand-children…” Sobs cut his words, “and… we will turn slowly grey… and white together…"

"… and?" her voice beneath him whispered.

"… and, wearied by the years, our wrinkled hands will cling to each other, waiting for death fearlessly, because…" Warm drops fell on her peaceful face, "… because, my love, we know we will soon be together again."

Martha’s fingers wiped away his tears, her Thomas’ forehead resting now against hers.

"Oh Tom…" she sighed with a smile, "…I can’t wait."

@темы: sadness..., candy-floss, о нашей жизни, нежность, любовь...., НРАВИТСЯ, Моему Мужу, Красивое


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Не смотря ни на что! Всегда! Я люблю тебя и буду любить!

@темы: нежность, любовь...., Моему Мужу, романтика


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Мда... Я даже не знаю, с чего и начать... Наверное с того, что Морелло опасен в таких количествах. Два раза.
О хорошем.
Город на рассвете просто прекрасен! Наверное именно так я мечтала проводить свои дни. Гулять до утра, пить не задумываясь о последствиях, с похмельем идти на работу и просто наслаждаться тем, что ты молод.

О странном.
Кажется вчера было обострение у всех нас.
Я поняла, что Эльвира может за себя постоять и как персонаж, она наконец показала всю себя. Рабастан.. Открылся как никогда, чем вызвал удивление, радость, волнение.. Признание в любви, на коленях.. Боже.. Никогда еще сердце так не билось... И кажется теперь же ничто не может быть преградой к их любви. Он такой.. Он оказывается совсем другой.. Я училась с ним целых 7 лет.. И только сейчас.. Милый.. милый Рабастан.. Я согласна! Я могу повторить это еще и еще! Только не закрывайся большео т меня.. Мой муж..

Локи становится все сильнее. Порой он перекрывает меня. Это пугает.. Но это мне нравится. Тор так хочет сына? Он с такой надеждой спрашивал, понес ли Локи от него..
Я бы отдавался ему каждую ночь.. Лишь бы он больше никогда не страдал.. Я сделаю все возможное, только бы у нег был сын..
Скула болит.. Удар у Тора точный и сильный. Я сам нарвался.. Брат.. я люблю тебя.

Рагнар вчера получил от Эльвиры, даже не помню, что он такое сказал, но Макнеер влепила ему от души. Правда и сама за что-то получила. Заметила, что она единственая, кто лучше всего сдерживает слезы.
А Локи такая шлюха...За что собственно и получил от брата. За дело.

Вообще что-то странное творилось во мне вчера.. Вроде и все ясно, но четко изложить я не могу..

@темы: Локи, Моему Мужу, Тор, Эльвира, любовь...., нежность, о нашей жизни, размышления, странности, тебе...


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Милый.. Твоя улыбка была так нежна и печальна... Я обещаю, я исполню данное тебе обещание и мы сможем чаще быть вместе...

@темы: Моему Мужу, любовь...., нежность


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Спасибо тебе, что ты всегда, даже незримо, рядом... Твоя поддержка мне крайне дорога!

@темы: Моему Мужу


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Я все больше влюбляюсь в Финляндию.. Всему виной ты!

@темы: Моему Мужу, приятности


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Ты говорил, что можешь быть безгранично романтичным, верно? Ты как-то показал мне это.. Покажешь еще?

@темы: Моему Мужу, Эльвира, нежность, романтика


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Нет ничего прекраснее и нежнее того, когда ты гладишь меня по голове.. В такие моменты я понимаю, что это приятнее и дороже любых ласк на свете..

@темы: Моему Мужу, нежность


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Ты появился внезапно, как первые цветы появляются из под снега. Такой нежный, заботливый.. Ты окружил меня вниманием с нашего первого свидания. Еще никто не был со мной так заботлив.. никто не дарил столько романтики.. Я влюбилась в тебя по уши. Как 15 летняя девчонка.. И даже спустя годы нашего знакомства, любовь не утихает.. и твоя забота не иссякает.. Я все так же жду звонков.. Мое сердце начинает биться стильнее, когда я вижу тебя и слышу твой голос. Ты стал для меня чем-то большим, чем любимый. Ты Стал для меня всем.
Я люблю тебя.

@темы: Моему Мужу, любовь...., нежность, романтика, тебе...


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Мы станем самой опасной парой в этом мире! Самой притягательной и сумасшедшей! О, мой родной! Если бы ты знал, как бьется мое сердце, когда мы вместе! Как возбуждает меня опасность, исходящая от тебя и звериная суть!

@темы: split mind, Моему Мужу, Эльвира, любовь....


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Прошу.. Не вини меня за то, какой я стала.. Так нужно. Иначе не выжить..

@темы: Моему Мужу


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Рабастан! Ты! Ух, как я тебя ненавижу!

@темы: Моему Мужу, позитив!!!!


lock Доступ к записи ограничен

Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Закрытая запись, не предназначенная для публичного просмотра


lock Доступ к записи ограничен

Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Закрытая запись, не предназначенная для публичного просмотра


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Я в предвкушении... Борюсь с противоречивыми чувствами... Приятно...

@темы: Моему Мужу, Эльвира, маленькие радости, нежность


Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Даже построив вокруг себя стену, ты не сможешь скрыться от всех этих вещей. что находятся за её пределами. Пожалуй тебе еще не встречался тот человек, ради которого ты бы смог сокрушить все эти кирпичи.. Я же вижу в тебе огромный мир, и я намереваюсь проникнуть туда, даже если ты будешь сопротивляться. За всеми масками я вижу тебя настоящего. Ты интересуешь меня гораздо больше, чем ты сам это представляешь. С тобой можно забыть обо всех правилах и скучном этикете. С тобой можно просто жить и поверь, это ценится дороже, чем все бриллианты мира..
Кольцо на моем пальце изменило меня. Так же как и ты изменил мой мир.
Я не могу знать, что ждет нас с тобой на длинном жизненном пути, но одно я знаю точно..Я люблю тебя и без страха произнесу "да"..

@темы: Моему Мужу, Эльвира, любовь...., тебе...


От нас всех и каждому

Наши судьбы тесно сплелись, но не соединились...
Олбани? В Питере? Фух.. Словно назад лет на тридцать вернулся..
Ди..Ты так же привлекателен и так же меня интригуешь..

Брат. Прости. Я был настолько глуп, что чуть не сдался, преклонив колени.. Я более не допущу этого. Верь мне.

Хм.. Помолвка.. Это так злит.. И так будоражит.. А этот юноша весьма хорош.. Стоит приглядеться..

Месяц стойкости. Месяц.. И нет предела совершенству. Волнительно..

Чтож.. Пора..
24.. Один из каноничных возрастов.. Месяц на море и столько планов..


@темы: pride, ВЕСКА, Мичиру, Моему Мужу, Оркотт, Эльвира, Локи, Брат,, достижения!, о нашей жизни, размышления, тебе...