The truth is, we were not innocent. On that moonlit night, our bodies had woven the weave our minds had struggled to avoid.

That thunderous ticking of the clock that irritated you so much had stopped. As were the hysterical horns outside screaming for movement. And the neighbors, who were not discreet and frantic at the window, were today sheltered in an unshakable trance from the smell of our candles.

The last warm rays of the sun pierced the windows and illuminated your face in a particular shade of orange that could only be described by sight. It was then that our hands shook while side by side we enjoyed that sunset on the mattress old man you refused to change. That was one of the things I always admired about you, the carelessness with life, a journey with no return, just one way.

I can feel your breath cradling my shoulder. As light as a leaf that leaves the branch and follows the wind in its new direction. Your touch reminds me of the rain that cools a flesh that feels on fire and your scent is stronger than that of the marigolds that decorate our dinner table.

Maybe they call us crazy or mundane for no reason. Irrational... The truth is that we were not innocent. It was that late afternoon that two intertwined bodies merged and plunged into the deepest ocean of emotion. It was there that I got drunk on your soul and tasted your harshest and most sincere you. It was there that, raw and simply, I gave you my heart.

By Inês Reis

Website: https://inesreisx.com/