A timid web of light engraved around your feet. You bit your lips, stared down at the floor for a moment… and a moment after that; standing there, bathed in that strange light, as if you didn’t know what to do.
You needed it. All of it. The slow, agonizingly slow and shy unveiling ceremony, as if you had never undressed in front of a man before; him taking in your glances as you slipped of each piece of clothing with a caressing movement… you both needed something to take you over the edge, to make you feel alive again. The panic, the rush, the kisses, the tender embraces. Moments of agony and pain and beauty and ecstasy.
You wanted to become one with him as much as he wanted to become one with you.
Do you know those modern art paintings? The ones Jackson Pollock used to paint? A madness of colors, all combining together to create an abstract form? Melting seamlessly into something great? Two drops of paint becoming one? Becoming more than just paint on canvas? More than what can be touched or seen or smelled or heard? Becoming something that can only be felt?
Well, that’s how you felt whenever you made love to him. Impossible to describe what exactly made you feel that way. Lying in bed with him beside you… you felt this strange certainty, a calm, as if you knew that as long as he was sleeping beside you the world had nothing to threaten you with; nothing to take from you, nothing to grant you.
He was enough. He was all you ever wanted.
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