UPON A PRECIPICE

It wasn’t a flash, and there was no burn. Her heart hadn’t pounded, and the butterflies didn’t…fly. Everything was just so clear-cut and logical.

Her mind fully understood. She should be falling for him. She should love him. Everything about him is great. He’s near perfect. So why? What’s the problem? What is he unable to give her? Why can’t her heart follow the logic so readily presented by her brain and just…fall? Plop at his feet?


The breeze felt absolutely wonderful. The warmth of the sun quietly soaked into her. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped a greeting, and another answered in song. The resounding crash of waves filled the air with the subtle scent of salt and fish and sea. Mixed in with it was the faint, musky scent of his soap. Caught, she quietly closed her eyes, leaned forward, and breathed.

The familiar scent of soap, laundry detergent, and a faint hint of sweat filled her nose. Letting go of the handle bars, thoroughly unable to resist, she sighed as she snaked her arms around him and gently rested her head against his broad back.

It was so comfortable together with him.

This comfort, couldn’t this be love?

Maybe it’s love. Who’s to say love has to be the flash and burn? Can’t it also be a gentle and steady warmth?

"Tired?" He asks, voice softly amused. "Should we go rest?"

I need to fall in love with him. "No, I can keep going."

She struggled against the desire to sigh. 

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