Night. The wind moves the curtain like someone's impatient b..
Added 2025-06-23 06:49:11 +0000 UTCNight. The wind moves the curtain like someone's impatient breath. I press my palm against the cold glass-it instantly fogs with the warmth of my skin.
I love this time. When you can imagine...
...The warmth of 🕯️ spilling behind me. Slow as melted wax. It wraps around your shoulders, travels down your spine, makes your hips arch involuntarily.
I know these touches - they're gone. But my body remembers what wasn't:
- Fingers curling into my hair - gently, but with the promise of passion 🖤
- Lips sliding down my neck - timidly at first, then leaving a wet trail on my collarbone 💋
- The heaviness of another body - not pressing, but affirming that this is my hour, my choice, my weakness
There is a peach 🍑 on the windowsill. I run my thumb over it - the skin is velvety, slightly pliable. The flavor promises to be sweet with sourness.
But now I dissolve into a fantasy where my loneliness is not emptiness but anticipation. Where every nerve sings like a taut string before a concert 🎻.
And the morning? The morning will come different - with frosty patterns on the glass and traces of my persistent dream on the sheets.....
Do you often daydream?
