Love Literati Contest: ‘Waiting for Nirvana’ by Felicia Taave

Love literati contest - elsieisy blog

I am just 16 inches shy of a perfect size 2, and I’m keeping that dress for when he’ll come. It’s a David’s Bridal too – I know, I know, I’m so lucky! The thing is, I want him to come but I want him to wait until I’m a perfect size 2, trim figure, small waist, lean thighs, y’know?

“Hi, Sienna,” he’d say, his eyes ablaze with unbearable passion or something.

Okay, my real name is not Sienna. But this is the daydream of my life so I get to be whatever exotic beauty I wish to be. In this one, I’m Sienna, tall and beautiful with thick, lustrous natural hair, dimples in my cheeks, a cute gap tooth, a stately neck for wearing beautiful gold and silver chains, beautiful earlobes for diamond studs (I have three sets of piercings, yay!), and a voice like you wouldn’t believe! My pore-less, glowing skin is the colour of pond clay, very delicious to the eyes and very alive to his touch. Every time he just brushes past me, even the faintest contact, it resets the temperature somehow, y’know?

Anyway, I know he’s coming so I’m on this weight loss regimen that’s caused me to know so many ways of eating spinach and confirmed my slight aversion to cabbage into a full-blown allergy. One time, he’d sit beside me on the back porch and we’d be watching the sparkly drizzle of stars overhead, or it might be sunrise, we’d be witnessing the miracle of dawn and he’d hold my hand and call me his lady.

“You’re the love of my life,” I’d say. Well, I say it every day really, so I guess on that day he’ll hear.

“I love you even more,” his calm, masculine voice would drench me in passionate ardour.

Okay, I’d really like for us to kiss then. Let’s make it sunrise (too many times he’s kissed me in the silvery limn of moonlight and under the winks of bashful stars already, right?) So he’d look at the sun astride the horizon and those same awestruck eyes would turn to me with varying hues of adoration and promise. Then we’d be drawn like magnets to each other, our lips merging, our hearts meshing, our lives twining. This is forever.

You won’t believe this but he’d propose. Maybe we shouldn’t make him go on his knees, I mean he’s too cute already without all the trappings. But he’d go down on his knees (for the hell of it) and ask me to marry him. Of course I’d shriek and say yes. That would be the perfect surprise reaction (wow! Haha!). I might even shed an overwhelmed tear here and there. He’d slip the ring on my long, slim, gazelle-like fingers and kiss my hand and carry my lithe frame out of the morning chill, tuck me in bed again and bring me hot tea.

June. That’s the deadline month I set, the time I’ve dared the universe to deliver him to my door. He’d come in that blue shirt that becomes him so well, plant his feet on my Welcome, press the bell switch and kiss me soundly when I open the door.

“I feared you’d never come,” I’d say through raging emotion.

“I don’t know how to stay away from you,” he’d say.

Then I’d lock the bathroom door and laugh all my mirrors to scorn. Every time I see a mirror – at home, at work, in the market, the salon, people’s jeering window glasses, anywhere – they’re short, stocky ladies, very richly pigmented, very oily-faced, with flabby ridges everywhere. But when he comes none of that would matter. I’d be Sienna in his eyes – the effortlessly beautiful one. He might want to know about stuff maybe, but he’d be too beautiful for sad stories; he wouldn’t need to know.

“Where have you been all my life?” he’d ask at some point (awww, catchy!)

“Waiting for you, my Nirvana,” I’d respond.

Do you know that fluffy ache that builds in your chest when someone is so sweet and so beautiful it fills you up like helium and almost sets you afloat but you struggle not to let it? I’d feel that creamy anguish when his hands touch me over all my folds and flows, when he strains to lift me above ground even just for a moment, when he can look at my face and touch it like the most delicate porcelain, tell me I’m beautiful, love me…

June. I’ll never be a perfect size 2 but I got that dress to remind me he’ll come. When tomorrow comes, I’ll eat some more chocolate and dream on; maybe I’ll be Mirelle, Roxana, Serena, GloryAnne, Beauty…waiting for Nirvana.

“I’m here now,” he’d say, gathering his arms around me, whispering, crooning, moaning, pledging eternity to my enlarged heart.

It’s enough to make a girl buy a dress several sizes too small, I swear! It’s a David’s Bridal too, y’know! Can’t let these things happen just anyhow.

You’ll see how it pays to be prepared.

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39 comments

  1. Felicia is such a good writer. This story resonates to every girl who has ever had body struggles. Go girl!

  2. This is really cool, I have to read till the end and it worth it, more of it hun, keep making us proud

  3. This is so great Felicia. Wish to see more of it… So romantic, it reminds of how powerful true love could be…
    Greater height sis…

  4. Taave has a unique way of capturing the mind of her reader with letting go. I enjoyed every part of this. Kudos. Good work

  5. This is apt and beautifully woven.The body struggle is a real issue faced in our society today. I just hope someday she realizes that Nirvana would come irrespective of what size she is.

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