Eternal Fleeting

An eternity had forged this moment. Scant years had forged this moment.

The night was a night of contrasts. The ancient and the timeless. The ephemeral and the fleeting. The things which have persisted from the time before the birth of human memory. And the things which had only just begun.

And everywhere there was unmitigated Beauty. Beauty so great and so vast that it dwarfed the word. It found the word impotent and comical. It existed there, unapologetic and towering. It demanded more powerful words.

“Make me a word. A word capable of capturing the essence of me,” it breathed.

There was the raw ruggedness of the mountain beneath their feet. The shadow-forms of its comrades, shoulder upon shoulder, rising to stand together. Sentries of the horizon.

There was the veil of stars, cascading in the night sky. Scattered to the corners of the earth on the drapes of heaven. Like spilled sugar on black velvet.

There was her companion, his features perfect and ethereal, awash in crackling firelight.

Cadán.

To be sure, the mountain’s raw ruggedness was mirrored in him. In the chiseled lines of his face, in his strong, sculpted jaw. In the unyeilding planes and curves of his musculature (which memory recalled as reflexively as her own name).

But the contrast was in the softness. The way his smile dawned upon his face with the brilliance of sunrise. The way the scent of him conjured mini-dreams of laying down with him on beds of wild flowers. It was in the melting of her insides. In his slow steady heartbeat. In the heartbeat that quickens. In his eyes. In his touch.

And there was contrast in measures of Time. The mountains, indifferent and impervious to Time. The timelessness of the moment itself.

And there was the evanescence of the lives of mortal men.

She watched Cadán watch the fire. The moments passed, and she looked on. He looked on. Neither spoke. What needed to be said? It was a time for contemplation. A time for discovery and learning. For thinking new thoughts.

And then, finally, for saying new things.

“You know, Cadán. I love you.” Startled at her own voice, the words had been uttered and were gone before she could forestall them. It wasn’t that her statement had been false. She just hadn't intended to speak aloud. Not with their history. It was a private truth.

Cadán looked up from the fire in surprise. He was not certain he had heard her correctly. He looked at her and he waited.

Silence lingered.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. I’m not sure where it came from,” she paused. “I mean, I know where it came from, I just...” she trailed off. She looked back to the fire, gathered her thoughts into baskets of neat sentences, and began again.

“Yes. I love you. But it doesn’t mean anything. Not like what you think. It doesn’t change anything. Not time-lines, or futures. Not the past or the present. It just is. It is a matter of fact, of existence. Like if I had said ‘I breathe,’ or ‘The sky is blue.’ It is a statement which demands no action.”

She stole a glance at Cadán, who had returned to studying the fire. He was listening, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. She went on.

“It shocked me to discover it. I mean, you have always been a unique phenomenon to me. You affect me in ways I cannot explain, or wrap my brain around. And when I first formed the thought, when I imagined us here, in front of this fire, and I saw the imagined me form the words on her lips... That was when I knew it was true. I mean, I still hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But the moment I had imagined saying it, I knew it was true.” She paused again to breathe.

“And to be honest, I’m not sure why it was a truth that I resisted for so long. I’ve known you how many years now? And looking back, I’ve always loved you. From the moment we met. The first time we danced.”

Cadán looked up at her again, attempting to gauge if there was more, if she would continue. She was back to staring-down the fire. He willed her to look at him, to share the turmoil he knew he would find there. But when she finally did, her glance was furtive and uncertain, quick and fleeting. She was not yet ready to grapple with Consequences.

“But it makes no difference. I mean, I expect it to make no difference. It is merely what has always been, whether or not the words had been given voice, whether or not I had named the Unnamed. Now we know its name. Now I know what to call it."

Time held its breath. "And it’s a relief, actually. Even though I hadn’t meant to say it. I’m glad I did.”

She looked again at Cadán, who had resumed watching the fire.

“Honestly, I think you love me too. I don’t think you name it. I think it’s something you don’t like to look at. The word, the Label makes you squirm. Makes you uncomfortable. You think the presence of that word demands action. Requires commitment. Or requires something. You think if you love someone, or someone loves you, that there is Expectation. You think people don’t just love just to love. For the joy of it. For the feel of it. Because they can. Because they can’t help it. Because it is what we were built for, made for.” She self-consciously picked at her pinkie nail. Fidgeting.

“I don’t need anything to happen. I don’t need anything to change. Just know it. Accept it. Tuck it away somewhere, where it won’t bother you. Where you can take it out and dust it off when you need the knowledge of it. Where it will keep you warm on a lonely night. Know that someone in this world thinks that you are a wonderful, incredible anomaly. And that she loves you. Will always love you. Boundlessly. Without reservation. Without judgement. My love for you is a celebration of all that you are. It is entirely, helplessly involuntary. Like a reflex. A natural response to beauty that is too big for the world.”

The fire hissed and spat, dancing, and long moments drew on. They inhaled, held breaths, and then exhaled. Each swimming in thoughts, wading through tides of emotion. Each trying to navigate the tumult and find solid ground.

“I don’t know what to say,” Cadán said at last, his voice breathy and soft, the words nearly catching in his throat. Barely a whisper. It could have been a caress.

She knew him well enough to recognize the emotion clinging like dew to each syllable he breathed. He may not know what to say, or even know yet how he wanted to react, would react, but he was feeling. Something. He was on a journey. Forging new paths. Thinking new thoughts.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said. I didn’t tell you so that you would reciprocate. Or say anything back. Or change anything. Or change us.”

“I feel like I should say something.”

She smiled and realized she was meeting his eyes again. And for the first time since she had spoken, she didn’t feel too naked, too exposed.

“I know you do. But you don’t. If you really feel like you need to do something, you could kiss me. We’re sitting here wasting a beautiful night on non...” The first tugs of a smile snagged the corners of his lips.

He leaned in and he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her words before they could escape.

The kiss was fervent. Demanding. It dipped in and out of Time. It stopped Time.

He moved his hand to cradle her head. He placed his other in the gritty earth beside her, and he lowered them both down.

Urgency blossomed. Lingered.

The night wrapped them. Cloaked them. Washed them.

Beauty stood watching. Jealous.