Well I tried to write a poem for this prompt, I really did, but it just didn't end up working so I've broken the rules (let's face it, writing is all about breaking rules anyway right?) and I've written a short story, a short short story about a personal experience that I'm not making up, in that aspect at least I'm staying true to the prompt. Read on if you dare...
It's a cold night. The car is still warm from the ignition as I climb in and lay back against the passenger seat. He doesn't turn on his car, I'm not here to go someplace with him. I'm simply here to be with him. It's quiet at first. Neither of us wanting to speak, for fear of sounding foolish. Eventually conversation starts to flow between us. Small talk really, how was your day, what'd you get up to and the like. I pull my legs up under me and turn to face him. I smile when I look him in the eyes, his eyes are mostly hidden in the dark, but I can still see the gleam of excitement and I know his heart must be racing too. We stay like that for a little while longer, discussing events of the day. Eventually conversation returns to our families and our situation. This stolen moment, in a car atop a hill, overlooking the small town we call home, is the only time we truly have to ourselves.
Nervously, his hand shifts across the console of the dusty ute, and takes mine. I'm thankful for the warmth and my hearts pounds against my chest embarrassingly loud, excited that he wants to hold my hand. I'm grateful for the cover of darkness to hide the pink in my cheeks as I blush as his contact. His hand is huge, much larger than mine, and my palm seems to swim in his. He hold my hand easily, my fingers just reaching through his. They're rough, worker's hands. His pointer finger has an irregularity. His nail is thick and tapered to a point, almost like a short talon. I ask him about it, and when he stalls in his answer I immediately regret my openness, wondering if I should have been more sensitive. He proceeds to tell me anyway, that his hand got stuck in a grinder when he was younger. I trace my fingers over the odd nail and smile. I tell him that I like it, and he sighs, seemingly relieved that I'm not repulsed. I tell him I'd love to have a claw and he chuckles. I blush again. That laugh seems to wash everything away, until all I want is for him to keep laughing.
At some point, we lower our seats so that we're more lying than sitting now. In the cold night, I welcome the warmth of the large, rough hand I hold in mine. Somehow, once we'd lowered our seats, I ended up in his arms. In that moment, when his arm was around my shoulder and I lay my head on his shoulder, I was happy. So unbelievably happy. I was peaceful also, calmed by the warmth that spread throughout my body, from the excitement of having him so close, and from what warmth he offered through his limbs. It seemed to peaceful then, to lie my head upon him, and hear his heart beating, not quickly, but not slowly either. I remember wishing that we could make this moment last forever. Our stolen moment, alone in the cold and in the dark. I felt safe and warm in his presence, and he felt safe and warm in mine. We lay there like that for a long while, neither speaking, just both relishing one another's company. Comfortable to be alone and in silence together. Words could be said another time, a time when we didn't have the sanctity that was offered to us now.
Although we mourned for the ending of this precious moment, the night was late, and we both had work in the morning. Not wanting to leave one another, we delayed ending our meeting with small talk and the like. When we could finally no longer stall the inevitable, he bent his head and kissed me softly on my hair. In that moment I felt incredibly loved. Loved purely and totally, I felt the feelings of his kiss as he pressed his lips to my head. It was a beautiful, short, stolen moment. It was cold, and dark, but together it seemed warm and bright as we looked out at the stars and enjoyed being in each other's company. It's a moment I will never forget, for the rest of my life.