Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The city slept under a blanket of stars, but in the quiet of my room, I was wide awake, tracing the lines of a forgotten map on my skin. His fingers, calloused and gentle, followed the path my own had just blazed, a silent cartographer rediscovering lost terrain. Each touch was a question whispered against my soul, and every soft sigh that escaped my lips was an answer he carefully collected. The air grew thick with the scent of rain on warm pavement and the faint, sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the open window. I felt my carefully constructed walls begin to tremble, not from force, but from the overwhelming tenderness in his gaze. A single tear traced a hot path down my temple, not of sorrow, but of profound release, as if a knot deep within me had finally come undone. He caught it with his thumb, his touch so reverent it stole my breath, and in that suspended moment, I was utterly known. The world narrowed to the space between our shared breaths and the electric hum where his palm rested against the frantic rhythm of my heart. I leaned into his solid warmth, my forehead finding solace against his, and felt the last of my mysteries gently unravel in the safety of his embrace. In the quiet surrender, I discovered not just him, but a version of myself I had been too afraid to love.
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