We met in the dark. Where rebels live and drinkers sing. The dark where our senses are alive, our bodies move and our lips touch – the dark where words or whispers are not needed.
Everything I learned of beauty so far could have been wrong. It was not the first time I’ve seen you, but I know now that all perceptions of beauty can change in the fraction of a smile, in the blink of a gesture. It’s always the beholder’s eyes and the perfect moment that count.
You seem to walk like a calm storm that touches the ground as the clouds are touching the raindrops before they release them to fall on earth where the mortals live. You walk like rain and feel like thunder.
I could say that you smell good, or familiar or just interesting. I don’t know. Maybe you smell like home and I just forgot how it feels like. Forgot about that aphrodisiac smell that calms the heart of a fighter and makes goosebumps on its skin.
It’s strange…you are strange. The “I will fuck up your mind” strange…just the kind I like.
One of the most beautiful parts of life is the uncertainty in which we live everyday; not knowing where our next step will bring us; what future a moment in the dark has; not knowing where this is going.
But how can we love the dark so much, when we are always living in light?