Life is too short for boring stories

And it was that he took my hand in the middle of a conversation. Gentle was his touch, as by the way, as if unintentionally. It passed through me like a ray of fire and a gentle breeze. Warm and soft and full of life, this touch was so that the words, which were still fresh and bright like a mountain stream, suddenly ebbed. And our eyes found themselves, his and mine, at this moment. The silence enveloped us like a cloak, and caught the closest of us even in the far distance. The seats in front of us. The seats next to us. The ground under our feet. There was nothing left but the two seats on which we sat. Raised, as if by magician’s hand, raised and carried forward.

“Does the silence disturb you?” he asked, his face very close to mine.

“Not when it is filled with possibilities,” I heard myself answer, in a muted voice.

So that we knew about the consent, so that our faces were even more approaching, until the lips touched. And his lips opened the locks so long in me. A spring sprang from them, from which I drank, who was filling me, my body, and my soul, and my heart. Living water that permeated me, in all my being, all my being-in-you. Living water, after I had so very brushed, without knowing it. Without admitting it to me. That made me blossom. Colorful flowers. Colorful possibilities. And the water followed the fire, as the day the night, which made me warm and filled and awakened. So I put my trembling hands on his neck, as if I had to make sure he were here and stayed. For this moment, which I wish it would never end. His lips were gently, at first, exploring, gently lascivious. Detect the desire, which became with the fulfillment no less, but more. Playful and full of deliberation. It was as if I had been kissed from a hundred years of sleep into a dream. It was as if I had been brought to life from a long-lasting twilight state. It was like I felt for the first time in my life. With all the intensity. With all gentleness. And when I opened my eyes again, he was there, just there, and I was there, and it was not a dream, and yet a dream. It was a co-existence and a familiarity, as if it had never been otherwise. As if it were the first time. And when we got out of the train, there were no more questions that would not be answered, for this moment of introspection. It was his hand that led me. It was his being-with-me that led me. It was self-evident in the uniqueness. As if it could not be otherwise. As if it would never be otherwise. Only for this moment of promise and fulfillment and perfection. Steps in unison. Breath in unison, heart beat in unison.

“It feels right. Really right. Therefore, it is also right,” I thought to myself, without really thinking it because I was the answer and the question because he was here, the answer and question because we were here, the touch that no answer needed because there were no more questions. The perfection of the circle. Beginning and ending in each piece, a devouring of beginning and end.

Just a blink of the eye, a breath, and then I immersed myself completely, into the moment, into him, letting me drift with him, from the vitality of the water that washed us, which we were, to find in ourselves, into each other, without reserve , wholehearted, unconditionally. Skin on skin. Breath to breath. Heart beat at heart beat. It was nothing but the moment of perfection and infinity.


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