So this is how you come to me in the fine dust of forgotten magic. You are neither black and white, nor fifty shades of grey but all of the colors in a rainbow and every shade in between. And each time I think I have seen them all, the light changes. And so this light illuminates, tears apart the shards of life, revealing only essence. Pass over and pass through, rest inside these weary bones, clothe this heart in new found colors. Your hand, to guide or to comfort, perhaps a small gesture to some. It is a need, to live and breathe, it is a place I know as home.

Sometimes it is for all the world to see, but only for two to truly understand. Passion is a disregard for balance; for safety; for stifling stability. It blooms within the dim unknown, the place the mind can’t see, blossoming in the vacuous void where all our inhibitions have been destroyed. Passion is a willingness to build our hopes upon the softest sand; the jumping, falling forward, never knowing where, or how, or if we’ll land. Such passion as I’d never felt, it swept me up, embraced me, ignited in me new and yet untold flames, kept unknown fires raging, like liquid entering through my skin, and finding a home within.

Destined to touch without self. Watching without seeing each other. Love each other without live.

His hand caressed my arm, from top to bottom, and the warmth of affection left me perplexed. We were in a paradise just for us, with the emotions none of us knew
It took a day to find out that love (the real one) has a very different meaning from what I knew. Lying on his chest, I discovered a different person in me, a new soul, I found my place... in your arms.

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