Image: ©️ René Magritte, Les Amants, 1928, oil on canvas, 54×73,4 cm, Museum of Modern Art, New York – Image modified by Roxane Kokka – Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike 4.0 International License. Source.
Author: Roxane Kokka
It is the strangest of feelings. My chest feels as light as a bird soaring through the wind and at the same time, as heavy as an anchor trapped between the most scarring of stones.
I wish last night never ended. The touch of your fingertips alone on my skin stirred up the deepest and most dormant senses of mine. And your tender lips on my forehead, cheeks, and fingers reminded me of a feeling I had long forgotten. Every second spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every word, and every embrace, one by one, enabled me to fall in love with you over and over again. Your eyes sinking into mine, your heartbeat against my ear, your deepest breaths warming up my neck.
Every touch of yours is inked into my skin. Your tender words have eternalized in my memory the loveliness of your existence. And my hair is lighter since you ran your fingers through it. Your arms squeezing me with the most delicate gentleness increased my body’s desire to melt into yours.
I now sit amidst the chaos deafened to it by my body’s yearning for yours. I yearn for your lips and your body’s kiss. You have touched and moved my soul like none other. And all I am left to do is sit here and wonder of the wonderful mess we found each other in.