The Turtle Theives

Her name was Monica. Monica was the weirdest girl I had ever met but in the most beautiful way. She had a pair of eyes that would make the Sun seem dim and the constellations bitter with envy…bitter…but not angry because even the stars couldn’t look into those eyes without smiling. Looking into them causes time to crawl along inch by inch just short of freezing but that’s just the way we like it. A matter of fact, we call ourselves the turtle thieves because we can’t help but take things so slow. Getting lost in those bright eyes made me lose all sense of myself but gain a greater sense of hers, a more than acceptable trade. Her eyelids were the gates of heaven into a world of beauty and intrigue. I hated seeing her cry because I felt like each tear was an angel falling from the heaven that was her gaze. We both seem to become one being as the distance between us becomes an illusion, we see it there but we each know better. Even though my hand dwarfs hers in size, our fingers embrace perfectly like a key hugs its lock, knowing they were made for each other. I begin to kiss her neck as her body trembles, our skin speaking to each other in a forgotten language, begging each other for more but we each refuse to cross the line into a sea of experiences neither one of us was quite ready to share with one another. The problem is, if you jump into that sea before your ready, you can end up drowning in a current of feelings and emotions that leave you both stranded in open water, paralyzed from heart break and regret. She writes love stories with her finger on the small of my back, never putting them in ink because some things are far too beautiful for others to comprehend and are better left unsaid. We play this game for hours, teasing our senses, torturing them, yet still refusing to give in to sin and desire because of one, solitary reason. We are the turtle thieves, and we love to take things oh so slow.