Water to a Parched Throat
Connection. No longer abstract, but tangible and real. Love, affection, flowing out like warmth from within. Casual caresses, the rubbing of skin against skin, the shared smiles and sighs. Fingers running through hair, menthols and lighters and Gatorade. Sprawled out in the bathtub, lounging on beds, two or three or four at a time, bodies intertwined. Or up and moving, bouncing, flowing smooth and easy to the low thump of bass, body moving with a language all its own. No constraints here, no worries, no inhibitions. Small talk isn’t small, secrets aren’t secret; every word carries its own meaning and worth, every touch is a momentary bridge between souls. No such thing as strangers, no reason for fear or regret. Only the desire to hold onto this feeling, to let it fuse into my mind, a bright little center in a chasm of gray; a hot, sustaining core for a planet gone cold. This is a reawakening, a rejuvenation, a reason for hope. This is one night out of thousands-not a peak, but a transition, a fleeting glimpse into something higher, a new means of communication and a new expression of faith. This is the essence of what binds us together, the currency of our interactions-only purified and strong, stripped of all inessentials, alive and undeniable in scope. This is life as it should be. This is what I want to achieve in everything I do. This is what I have been missing.