In Tongues

“But I don’t speak Russian,” he told her as he looked at the sign above what appeared to be a tavern.wpid-IMAG0310-1.jpg

She looked at him in puzzlement because it seemed she only spoke Russian. Shaking her head, she tried a different approach to get him to understand.

“Я хочу вам правильный путь. Я хочу вас, но я хочу вас хотят меня тоже,” she said in a rush, breathless with the knowledge that he wouldn’t know her innermost thoughts, even though she had said them aloud.

He didn’t understand, but the flowing way she said the words gave him pause. They had only met through the internet, and then they had used translators, so the wording was stilted on both ends. But once he heard her speak, and heard the tone of her voice, he knew he was in love. So, he tried speaking with his hands as well as his lips.

“I don’t even know how to begin, but I’m in love with you,” he said as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Okay, I guess that wasn’t so hard, but maybe that’s just because you don’t know what I’m saying. But it’s still hard for me, because I’ve been hurt before, and you don’t understand, but I just wanted to say it.”

“Мне нужно принять мое дыхание медленно. Ваша любовь это мой наркотик,” she continued in that melodious, flowing cadence he could not deny. She could have been quoting the phone book for all he cared. He had to have her. So he put his hand over his heart and mimed a beating pattern, then pointed at her. It was rudimentary, but he saw her eyes soften and crinkle.

And somehow she knew what was coming, the universality of body language giving him away. He leaned toward her, putting his arm around her waist. Somehow, someway, they would connect, on some level, on all levels, and he would find that way, but for then, they would use the oldest language, and also somehow the deepest. As he drank in the wonder of her eyes, his lips tasted hers, those sweet lips that spoke novel words that sparked his soul, even if he knew them not.

And he kissed her.

И он поцеловал ее.


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