Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The moon cast long, silver fingers through the window, painting your silhouette in shades of pearl and shadow. I watched the quiet rhythm of your breathing, a silent symphony that called to the very core of my being. My fingers traced the delicate line of your shoulder, a touch so light it was almost a question. You leaned into the contact, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your head tilted back against my chest. The air itself felt charged, thick with the sweet, dangerous perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the garden below. I could feel the frantic beat of your heart answering the wild drumming in my own, a synchronized rhythm of shared longing. Your hand found mine, our fingers intertwining with a desperate, tender urgency that spoke of secrets too profound for words. In your eyes, I saw a reflection of my own turbulent emotions—a mixture of fear, wonder, and an aching, beautiful hope. This moment, suspended between what is allowed and what the soul truly craves, felt like the only truth I had ever known. The world outside, with all its rules and reasons, simply melted away into the warm, forgiving darkness.
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