Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The rain traced silver paths down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into a soft, distant watercolor. He stood across the room, a quiet silhouette against the trembling glow, and his gaze felt like a physical touch, warm and steadying. I watched the way his thumb absently traced the rim of his glass, a slow, deliberate circle that made my breath catch. When he finally stepped closer, the air shifted, charged with the scent of old books and his subtle cologne. His hand, when it rose to cradle my cheek, was surprisingly warm, his thumb stroking away a stray tear I hadn't known I’d shed. In that suspended moment, the mystery of him began to unravel, not in words, but in the quiet sigh that escaped his lips as our foreheads gently touched. My fingers found the soft wool of his sweater, clutching it like an anchor as I leaned into the solid comfort of his presence. The world outside ceased to exist, its noise fading into a hushed, reverent whisper. I felt known, completely and utterly, in the silent language our bodies were speaking. This was the answer to every unasked question, a perfect, fragile understanding woven from shared breath and beating hearts.
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