Life is too short for boring stories

Timidly, the heavy air of the night penetrated through the open window. The night was already well advanced. Quickly I threw myself over and walked barefoot along the corridor, which led me to the gate. The full moon hung melancholy and lost in thought in the star-filled sky. He was as always and it is also reassuring, as always. But something was different. I saw the path that led to the lake, lined with hundreds of small candles. The perfume of musk and amber hung in the air, and flowed through a fine rose aroma, and my naked feet perceived the change from the hard part of the way to the one that was strewn with rose petals.

Gently I went on to the lake. The sensual fragrances flowed through me and my body felt almost weightless, hovering over rose petals, between the flickering glow of the candles and the ease of being unhappy. Thoughtfully, the moon did not move, and moved me. On the bank the raft was waiting for me, and even over the lake the chain of candles had not been interrupted. As soon as I had entered the raft, I had already laid it down, and, as if guided by the spirit, ran between the candles, which gently floated in the water. They were lifted and lowered from the waves, went with them, and clung to them. If they were opposed to their own rhythm, they would undoubtedly be extinguished, but in being together, in finding oneself in motion, both being expanding, complementing, flowing and grace, may reciprocally invoke and flatter each other.

At last the raft put on at the footbridge, and I climbed up and I embed myself in the flood of rose petals as on clouds. As if out of nothing, two delicate hands stretched. They joined my eyes and tied me with a tender handle and silken ribbons. It had happened so quickly that I had no way to defend myself. I could not see or move. But I felt the velvety roses beneath me, and you smelt of vanilla and cherry, of warm, dark wood and night as you bent over me. I let myself be and done myself, in the familiarity of the senses, the inspiring surrender to what I had been given on this night, on this bridge, embedded on roses. Extending can be restriction.

Your hands were around me, and your breath and your lips. I felt the roses and the sparkle of the moon that flowed around my body, and I felt your breath and your hand on my chest. It lay on it lightly, and let itself be lifted and lowered, just as the lights of the lake could be lifted and lowered from the waves. I was the wave and the flowing and the lifting and lowering and the rhythm, and you were the light that entrusted itself to the wave and the flowing and the lifting and lowering. And so we let us drift away from the rhythm that binds us together and finds us in a merging relationship, let us fall into one another, let us sink without passing through, rather to be elevated. In perception the assumption happened, and even the heart beat took place in this harmony.

I breathed your skin and your being-with-me, your touch and your smell, your breath and your pulse, your love and your waste. I breathed you. And in the same way I was a gift to thee, and to be at the mercy of thee, and to be unbroken. Gentle as the moon and the scent and breath and life itself, impressive and yet full of hint, we were and we are, on the bridge, between the lights and the fragrances, embedded on roses.


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