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A Cruel Teasing of the Heart
Another sleepless night underneath the stars. The kind that makes all the sounds around you become amplified by ten. Time stands still solidifying the evening which actually is early morning. The longing for love squeezes at your heart, a physical pain that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. It cripples you, curls you up in the fetal position like a colicky newborn, crying for what you cannot have.
The look of love.
The eye contact between two potential lovers. Hints of promise beamed to each other simultaneously. A smile encompassed in a stare.
That first physical contact: the holding of hands. Fingers entwined signifying unity. Solidarity. Leaning in cautiously, carefully, the two draw closer together. It's as if some unseen barrier is prohibiting their forward progression, the anticipation of the first kiss. Finally, the barrier becomes pliable, giving way to the inevitable kiss. Lips upon lips.
Contact.
The heat exchange in undeniable. Tongues exploring, probing for more, finding it. Heartbeats in perfect sync.
All is full of love. Everything else is nothing else, trivial in comparison.
And then you wake up.
