Your voice. Your voice. Your voice! Sir! It makes me wet for no fucking reason. It envelops me with warmth.
So you cannot fathom the effect it had on me last time when you repeatedly said my name. Not my nickname — my full name.
How delicious that sounds in your voice.
You said it many times — as if you where rehearsing the perfect tone and pronunciation. As if you were getting used to let it slip on your tongue naturally — knowing you would call it for the rest of your life. Worship it even. Like I would yours, most definitely.
Not sure if you know, but in terms of psychology, hearing your name is one of the most comforting and soothing things to your brain. So hearing it from you is most special.
You’re most special.
Is it our fault if we met at a later stage in life? If you had already promised your heart to someone else more than a decade ago, before knowing my existence in this world? Should we feel guilty for having been struck by lightning — or should we rather feel unlucky? Or lucky even?
Circumstances are complicated. Life is complicated.
But finding you in the midst of chaos was easy. Falling for you was easy. Loving you is easy.
I just wish things were different — I just wish we were free. Free to delve into this. Free to love each other with as much intensity as our hearts desire.
Oh, the hugs I’d give you. Oh, the kisses I’d spread over you. Oh, the sweet nothings I’d whisper to you. Oh, the love.
But as I move on to the next chapter of my life — by my own, detached, solitary — I need to let go of the delusion. We’ll never meet, because we can’t. We’ll never love one another, because we can’t.
We’ll never get to experience the fantastic adventure that our union would have been. But we know, we know. Buried in silence, somewhere between the lines — we know.
Yours, quietly.