I remember talking about your tattoo. The room was dark and we were tangled together, skin to skin. I could see the outline of your face, your nose, your eyelashes. I traced my finger over the picture on your bicep, outlining the pyramid with my touch. You told me about the “All-Seeing Eye” and how it symbolized knowing all, seeing all. I can’t remember your reason for permanently marking your body with this symbol for omniscience. That’s what’s weird about the memory–how we can remember some things but not others. I do remember how it felt to live that moment, and somehow it made its way into my other writing.
My novel, as you know, is in its early stages, but there is this scene that keeps floating around in my head. It’s mixed with that night we spent under the “stars,” the night I fell in love with you. Here I go again trying to turn you into fiction in an attempt to move beyond the physical ache that resides in my heart, the ache that renews itself every time I hear your name.
His wet hair hung in his face, and he shook his head sending tiny droplets of water flying through the dark air. His t-shirt clung to the muscular frame that she had only just noticed, and her breath caught in her throat when he reached to pull the sopping cloth from his body. She shuddered as heat flooded her veins and rushed to her cheeks. He stood in front of her, naked from the waist up, his chest heaving from his swim through the creek. She noticed a dark tattoo high on his arm, a pyramid surrounded by palm trees. It was dangerous for her to be alone with him, but she couldn’t help the thoughts racing through her mind, the thoughts of touching his skin, the idea of his fingers running along her body. She stared at his face, his dark eyes that silently roamed her features. Before she knew what was happening, her feet brought her to him, her hands gliding over his damp skin until her fingers stopped on the tiny constellation of freckles in the middle of his chest. She looked into the depths of his eyes and brushed her lips gently over the dark pattern dotting his perfect brown skin. In that moment, nothing mattered, not the danger or the fear, but only the inescapable constellation of him.
The night surrounded them in a cool blanket. She curled into him, his arm around her shoulder and her head on his chest. She had kissed him until her lips were sore and her lungs burned for their own air. Now, inside the bubble that formed between his arm and torso, she felt safe and sated with the warmth of his touch. “It feels like we’re outside,” she said, gazing up at the bright glow-in-the dark stars plastered to this strange ceiling. “It’s like this is our own private sky on our own secret planet,” she whispered, her breath hot on his skin.
“That’s what it is,” he said, a smile in his words. “We are the only inhabitants and one day we will teach this world to love.” His fingers brushed the hair from her face and his mahogany eyes bore into hers. His lips grazed her cheek and moved to her neck, her chin, her nose, and finally stopped at her mouth where he kissed her greedily and without hesitation. Their arms and legs tangled, and tiny droplets of sweat sprung from her fiery skin as his mouth moved with hers and their hearts beat together.
Her mouth moved to his neck and she could feel his pulse hammering against her lips as if his blood yearned to be as close to her as his skin was. In the darkness, she could see only the rough planes of his face, his muscles as they tensed beneath her. Her fingers roamed his body and caressed his arms, but came to a stop on the pyramid tattooed to his arm. The gray night made it difficult to see the shape, but she could see the top of the pyramid floating above the rest, a glowing eye staring out at her. She looked into his eyes and a small smirk formed on his mouth.
“Did you not expect me to have a tattoo?” he asked her, his hand once again tangled in her hair.
“What does it mean? The eye?” She was curious not only about the ink but what about the image would mean so much as to permanently mark it to his beautiful bronze skin.
“It’s the All Seeing Eye,” he whispered, his hot breath sending an inferno into her ear canal. “The Eye of Providence has many meanings. In Hinduism, it represents the god Shiva who is said to have a third eye that sees all. He has a say in all life, death, and immortality.”
It’s not finished and neither is the book, but maybe one day you will read it and see yourself in my character, maybe even see yourself through my eyes.