"𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚?" His querying felt like a blade to her, her life straddling its sharpness.
"𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙛 𝙄 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣, 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩." Her br...
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𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐺𝑂𝐷𝑀𝐴𝑁𝐻𝐼𝑆𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑀 | 1
THE WRITER | E N N E
The sprinkles of mild waters leniently dropped on the surface of my skin—sending shivers. The chattering of the icy gale arriving from the sea hit my warm dermis, erecting sequence of mountains all over. My palms firmly each other's arms as the eyelids shut close, the arms leaning on the sense. But unluckily, the hands along the sleeve less black dress hugging my figure were not helping either.
The beach at late night appeared more ethereal—the glistering sand as if they are dashed from moon's dust sparkles; the sapphire sea playing hide and seek with the shoreline where my figure was, giving a glimpse of it to the shore and darting away back to its original space and the most alluring facade of the daring nature: the lunar, drenched in the unique shades of gold, making the soothing, blunt atmosphere more significant; the soft moans of the waves reflected by the gibbous—all these were contrast to an passionate darkness—my soul.
The white, platinum pendant kissing and cherishing my chest and clavicles, the hair tresses flowing by the breeze, imitating the waves of the ocean—I wish someone to admire me like this.
With a placid sigh, I led my palms away to the cover of a diary for giving a writ to my today's desire—It is a time to make a fictional man admiring his possessed woman.
My fingers detached the fountain lead with its cap as the navy ink on peak shone up. My ink started marking over by the hands I was inscribing.
•••
It was an interval when avian bodies were messed in each other, making affection on one of the branches. The crescent was also an amorous evidence of a sin; full of beauty, which every spirit wanted to be experience once, the addiction was in which the birds were falling for—making love with your love. The night was mild, full of stillness cause it did its most possible attempts to hide all those moans between a vixen and her wolf. His hands on waist, his irises shinning with millions of cosmic bodies, the universe gifted him, now were pleasured on only one creation, his adoring woman. Her unsteady breaths, her breasts bobbing along with pace of his, the pores coated with nectar from his mouth which slurp few times ago. 'Tell me everything about you so that I can worship you with my best and your ease.' His tune hit her eardrums, sending not only some shivers, but also the adrenaline veins popped up with lust as she replied, whispering the assuredness of that one last stair to the world where there is no going back 'I want my man to not hold him, but showing me all the desires, forbids, carnal thoughts he had been holding.'
And then there was no going back. Never.
•••
There was not a single thing which could made me happier than this moment: it felt like the night was kissed by luring fairies. Always was obsessed with these kind of alluring make outs. They are not delusional but cravenness of occupying the space, filling the gaps—like the interstice between the fingers. They not something about physical touches but the soul piercing to another. And again—there was no moving backward.
