ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening light fell in soft golden pools across the room, casting long, dancing shadows as he reached to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek. His hand, so much larger than my own, moved with a deliberate, tender slowness that made my breath catch in my throat. My gaze was drawn to the broad plane of his palm, the strong, capable fingers that seemed to hold a quiet, contained strength. When his hand enveloped mine, a wave of warmth spread through me, a feeling of being utterly safe and yet thrillingly overwhelmed. I watched, mesmerized, as his thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles on the back of my hand, each rotation sending a shiver up my arm. The sheer scale of his grasp was a silent promise, a physical manifestation of protection and profound care. In that simple, intimate contact, I felt a surge of vulnerability and trust so potent it brought a faint sting of tears to my eyes. The world outside our quiet bubble seemed to fade into a distant, unimportant hum. My heart beat a frantic, joyful rhythm against my ribs, a silent echo of the connection flowing between our linked hands. In that moment, I understood that this was not merely a preference, but the language through which my soul felt most deeply understood.
Comments
Post a Comment