In a room with heavy curtains, where shadows dance on walls like forgotten memories
In a room with heavy curtains, where shadows dance on walls like forgotten memories,
It's not just about touches, nor bodies pressed together or rumpled sheets,
It's about how you undressed me of layers of silence and fears with your hands like a gentle wind,
In the bed that seemed a secret island, you taught me to be myself without apologies or masks,
Your fingers flowed slowly over my thighs, as if writing poems on my skin,
Then I understood that my body is not an object, but a living territory that opens.
Your kisses on my wrists didn't just touch the skin, but awakened depths and desires,
That I deserve patient caresses, not the rush toward empty endings like forgotten fields,
You told me "you are beautiful" when my hair was tangled, mascara smeared and soul trembling,
I didn't know that vulnerability could be seductive, and your gaze completely disarmed me,
Looking into my eyes, desire transformed into acceptance, a wave that embraced me with tenderness.
When your palm rested on my chest, beside the heart that beat in rhythm with yours,
You made me feel that my place was there, not just in a bed, but in a presence that doesn't leave,
There were evenings when we only talked, naked under the blanket, words more intimate than any gesture,
You listened to all my silences, all the half-spoken fears, without corrections or judgments,
You taught me that intimacy is not a performance, but a silent dance between souls that recognize each other.
Since then, no other bed has been just a place to sleep, it became a sacred altar,
Where I understood who I am, who I can become, how much I can feel and how much I can truly love,
For all those things – simple, unhurried, honest – you changed me forever,
Sometimes, you wouldn't even touch me, you'd sit beside me and, with your stillness, made me feel desired,
You taught me that to desire doesn't mean to possess, that revelations happen between touches like a zephyr.
I felt your hand wandering along my spine, gathering scattered pieces and caressing scars,
You touched me like an unspoken verse, careful not to unravel its music, and that was healing,
In a world that rushed me, you slowed me down and taught me to remain, in myself and in you,
In that bed that had become nest, refuge and core of self-discovery, a silent sanctuary,
You knew to be quiet when I needed to hear myself, to laugh in the middle of the night when I was fear.
Covering me not just with the blanket, but with the promise that I would never be too much,
You fell asleep with your forehead pressed against my back, and your slow breathing taught me to breathe deeply,
You changed my rhythm, the way I feel, love and abandon myself without losing myself,
And maybe you're no longer here, maybe the bed is no longer the same, but I am the one who woke up more whole,
More alive, more woman, because the things you did to me in bed weren't just physical,
In their silence, they were a perfect art, and I, without knowing, became part of it.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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