ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing around us like tiny, shy fairies. His gaze was a soft weight upon me, a silent question I answered with a slow, deliberate turn, my shoulder grazing his chest as I moved. A gentle sigh escaped my lips, not of weariness, but of profound arrival, as if my soul had finally found its harbor. His fingers, calloused yet impossibly tender, traced a path from the nape of my neck down the gentle slope of my back, a whisper of a touch that spoke volumes. I leaned into the solid warmth of him, my head finding its familiar resting place just below his collarbone, and I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart against my cheek. The world outside, with all its noise and haste, simply melted into a distant, irrelevant hum. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared heat of our bodies, the scent of his skin like sun-warmed linen and safety. Every breath I took was filled with his essence, and every slight shift of his posture felt like a quiet conversation meant only for us. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sheer, overwhelming rightness of being completely known and utterly cherished. This was not a beginning or an end, but a beautiful, eternal now, woven from silence and sunlight.
Comments
Post a Comment