Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The city slept under a blanket of distant, indifferent stars, but in the quiet of our room, the universe felt intimately close. His fingers, tracing the line of my jaw, were not a demand but a question whispered against my skin. I leaned into the touch, my own breath catching as a silent answer formed in the warmth between us. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken words that hung between our shared gaze. Every slight shift of his body against mine was a new verse in a poem we were writing with our silence. I felt a tremor run through me, not of fear, but of a profound and terrifying recognition. This was not about possession, but about being utterly seen, a soul laid bare in the gentle hush. The scent of his skin, clean and warm like sun-drenched linen, filled my senses, anchoring me to this singular, suspended moment. My hand found his, our fingers interlacing as if solving an ancient, beautiful puzzle. In that quiet convergence of breath and heartbeat, I felt not lost, but found, unraveling not into nothing, but into everything I was always meant to be. A single, perfect tear traced a path down my cheek, a testament to the overwhelming beauty of such a fragile, fearless surrender.
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