Characters: Lily Evans, James Potter.
Short summary: Introspective drabble trying to describe James Potter's love.
His love is from a forgotten era.
From a time when romance was not a grudging effort but an unsung joy, a time when marriage meant more than just a ring on a finger, a time when soul mates existed and finding them was the easy part, it was staying alive long enough to appreciate them that was hard. A time when love was selfless, gentle, kind.
His love was like strawberries and cream on a lazy, sun kissed Sunday afternoon. It was decadence and indulgence and absolute necessity all rolled into one deliciously sinful kiss. He was an oxymoron in himself; strong and gentle, loving and passionate, mature and silly. He loved, as he did with everything, with his whole self. Nothing was left covered, untouched, invulnerable. It was laid bare and his marvellous self confidence and absolute trust was what got him through this soul bearing unscathed. He was gentle with her, caresses never gropes, but brutally honest too. Saying exactly what she needed and not what she wanted. She had given him her heart with the knowledge that he could break it irreparably but trusting that he wouldn't and he had yet to hurt her. He had a great capacity for love of all kinds, not just romantic and she admired him greatly for that. There was no man, woman or child too weak or little to deserve his love, only those few that were deemed unworthy of it through their actions, not through their faults. Never their faults.
She had never before been touched by love like his. Past relationships melted down to nothingness, the love of her friends and family hurried to the corners of her heart to make room for him. He loved her completely, utterly and uncompromisingly. His love was a tangible thing, something she could feel and hold onto and cherish. It was not the words; they were flimsy and useless to her. No, his love was something that only she knew the extent of, that only she had ever felt and something that only belonged to her. As she did to him.
He was like a summer breeze against her skin, whispering, gentle but constant. He was always just there. Never straying, never leaving and she knew, in her heart of hearts, that that was the way it was meant to be. Her single friends, and a few of her taken friends, were jealous of her and she had wondered why until they had explained that they had never experienced the kind of love that graced Lily with its beauty every day. The only thing she had to compare it to was the relationship between her parents and, even that loving marriage, had paled into faded greys compared to her vivid, rainbow love that exploded the senses in its extremity.
She was sure she did not deserve it but she was going to selfishly keep it for as long as humanly possible. Even if one day he decided to grace someone else's soul with his love, though the thought was inconceivable, she knew that their love would echo down the years as an epic romance. Romance novels and classic songs would tremble at the reality of their relationship. It was a struggle to comprehend the fullness of his love and she struggled further to verbalise it. There were not words enough in the English language to aptly describe it and she didn't think there ever would be.
That was what James Potter's love was like and Lily Evans, now Potter, thanked her lucky stars that he had chosen her to bestow this love upon each and every day of her life.