The Rocking Chair

This was written some time ago, when the hero's hair was still it's warm, honey brown and the lady's auburn strands fell to her waist. Sadly, I’ve found this being relevant again.

It is one of my favourites, for the image it conjures in my mind. The strong hero supporting his wounded and somewhat broken lover with the strength of his love and caring.

Love isn’t always about the act of love making, all kisses and cuddles. Often, it’s about supporting one another, listening, sharing, putting all the little pieces of someone’s soul back together again when they’ve been shattered and just holding them while they cry.

For anyone who’s ever wondered about ‘the shoulders’, this explains some of it.

Sometimes, when the world gets to be too much, we just need someone strong enough to hold us and keep us from falling apart. Not a hero, necessarily. Just someone to love us enough to hold us and let us cry.

Suggested songs:

Break on Me – Keith Urban

Lady Love - Michael Nesmith 

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Back and forth.  Swish, swish.  Back and forth.

The large rocking chair moves steadily, slowly, in perfect rhythm with the ticking of the clock upon the bedside table.  In the corner of the room, far away from the glass windows of the balcony, removed even from the large, mahogany bed, the familiar room is still but for the two figures in the moving chair.

Leaning his head back against the smooth wood finish of the chair, the man whispers softly to the drowsing figure of the woman he holds tenderly in his arms. The glittering silver strands of his hair stand out brightly against the warm brown colours of the wooden chair, bathed in the light of a single lamp standing stoically in the opposite corner.  Quietly, his voice falls in a gentle song, now with words, now only the murmur of lost notes, sad and yet peaceful in the silent room as he rocks the lady into the arms of gentle dreams.

Back and forth.  Swish, swish.  Back and forth.

Pausing the motion of the chair for a moment, he gazes down at his sleeping lover, her eyes closed, lashes resting against her flushed cheeks.  With a gentle hand, he lifts soft fingertips to very lightly brush that rounded flesh, drying away the last traces of her tears, smoothing the stray strands of hair that had swirled around her face where she had buried it against his shoulder only a short time ago.  Familiar gestures comb the long, auburn threads away from her cheeks, tucking them behind her ears, gathering the mass and releasing it so that her hair flows more freely and comfortably over the hand supporting her back, trailing against the arm of the chair.

Tick.  Tock.  Back and forth.  Swish, swish.

He begins again to sway the chair, gathering his lady more closely against his breast, resting her head upon his shoulder, reaching a hand to fix the hem of her dress where it kisses her knees, prettily draped over the opposite arm of the chair, her bare feet swinging with the gentle motion.  He cannot resist allowing his fingertips to brush the smooth skin of her leg, lightly caressing her knee.  Idly checking the ticking of the clock, he notes the long minutes that have passed since he first lifted her into his lap, gently shushing her sobs and holding her tightly until her tears had ebbed and fallen away into sleeping silence.

The memory wanders through his mind now, even as he watches the rhythmic rise and fall of her breast, lost in sweet sleep.  How she had arrived at his door, clearly unnerved and upset, stepping inside the warm apartment with her easy habit of casting off her shoes.  He smiles now at that little memory.  She had said little, embracing him tightly, tenderly kissing his lips before turning to face the tall windows that lined the entire wall of the apartment - floor to ceiling, side to side - staring out endlessly at the slowly darkening sky.

“What is it?  What’s happened?” Stepping up close behind her, his question had been quiet, whispered at her ear as he’d wrapped strong arms about her waist, holding her back against the beat of his heart so that she could not escape without an answer.

“It’s just… nothing and yet, everything.”  Turning, she had faced him with the weight of her sorrow in the depths of her eyes, shimmering with the threat of tears.

“Everything?  Even me?”  Though he’d smiled slightly, his brow creased with concern, with trepidation he had voiced his selfish fear.

“No.  No, not you.  Never you.”  She had smiled then, raising a hand to brush though his hair and caress the small cleft in his chin.  The light in her eyes did not lie, but what had so hurt her this way?

“Then what is it?  Who’s hurt you this way?”  Refusing to release her, he’d cupped her cheek with one hand, fixing her eyes sharply with his own steady, emerald gaze.

Sighing, she had relented at last.  “No one has hurt me.  At least, no one in particular.  I just feel… as though life has suddenly decided to beat me down.  Work is overwhelming and terrible. I can’t seem to do anything right. The harder I try, the worse I fail… at everything! Things at home are a nightmare.  The doctor called and my latest test results… were… not good… It’s as if my world is crumbling apart in tiny pieces and the harder I try to put things back together, the faster they fall apart.”  Sighing once more, she had cradled her face in her hands for a long moment before lowering them again.

With a soft smile, he had reached for her hands, holding them firmly in his own. “Tell me.” His voice had been no more than a soft whisper between them as he’d looked into her eyes.

At last, speaking quietly, in breathless words she had confided to him all her fears and worries as he had held her gently, his hands slipping from her own to hold her shoulders carefully.  With every word, the walls of her restraint had slowly shattered, until at last she had wept freely, giving in to the tears she had fought so hard to defeat.

Pulling her tightly against his taller form, one hand surrounding her waist, the other reaching up to the nape of her neck, tucking her head easily against him, allowing her to bury her face in the safety of his shoulder, he had held her in perfect silence for a long time before leading her, without a word, to the inviting bedroom, easily lighting the lamp, settling into the rocking chair and nestling her against his heartbeat.  

Back and forth.  Swish, swish.  Back and forth.

He cradles her now with all the reverence of a lover and the tenderness of a healing kiss.  His voice rising and falling in quiet song, easing the pain of his lady’s broken world. Her hand rests against his heart, as though, even in her restless sleep, she clings to his love.  Bringing his cheek to caress her hair, he breathes a long, lonely sigh. Leaving a soft brush of his lips at her temple, now closing his eyes, now watching her carefully he continues the gentle motion of the chair.

Swish, swish.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

His arms hold her tightly, as though with this physical gesture, he can mend the breaking of her will, the shaking of her spirit, soothing away the memory of her tears with the soft sound of his voice.

Rocking her slowly.

Tick.  Tock.  Back and forth.  Swish, swish.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back…

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