ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, a sweet perfume that clung to our skin as we stood on the balcony. His fingers, tracing the line of my jaw, were a whisper against the fading warmth of the day. I leaned into his touch, my eyes closing as a shiver traced its delicate path down my spine. The low, melodic hum of a distant cello drifted from an open window, a serenade that seemed to pulse in time with my own quickening heartbeat. He moved closer, his breath a soft warmth against my temple, and the world narrowed to this single, breathless point. I could feel the steady, reassuring thrum of his heart where my hand rested on his chest, a silent promise in the twilight. When his lips finally met mine, it was not a collision but a slow, tender discovery, a conversation without words. A single tear escaped, not of sorrow, but of an overwhelming feeling of finally being home. In that endless kiss, every fear I had ever carried simply melted away, leaving only a profound and radiant peace. We were two souls woven together by the music of the night, lost in a perfect, silent understanding.
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