Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The Parisian night draped our small balcony in a velvet cloak, the distant murmur of the city a soft symphony just for us. Her laughter, a melody I’d chase forever, faded as our eyes met in the dim light from the open door. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, a silent rhythm answering the quickening beat of my own heart. Her fingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path from my wrist to my shoulder, left a trail of shimmering warmth on my skin. She leaned in, her breath a soft caress against my neck, and the scent of her perfume, jasmine and night air, became my only reality. My hand found the small of her back, drawing her closer until not a whisper could pass between us. In that suspended moment, the world dissolved into the profound language of our shared silence. A single, tear-like star traced a path down her cheek, reflecting the city’s golden glow, and I knew my soul was no longer my own. Our lips met not with hunger, but with a heartbreaking tenderness that felt like a long-awaited homecoming. Every careful touch, every shuddering breath we exchanged, was a quiet promise whispered into the warm Paris dark.
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