Letters.

The apartment where she lived, was very small. They had looked at each other long and hard enough, he smelled her and kissed her, she smiled and touched him, long enough. When nights were cold, they would tell each other warm stories of hills in summers and beaches in winters. Stories made and forgotten, nights passed as easy as days. Their letters were regular, sometimes he didn't reply, and sometimes she refused. Relationships on letters are fragile and longer, they counted on the longer part. Love, it might have been, since the correspondence was frequent enough, it felt like love. Yes, it was love.

My dear,

It should be raining that night, when I meet you again. Intoxicated and drenched, I believe they never fail to create magic. Magical and unreal, like our other meetings. I would see you by my favorite place. Come high, you know I am shy of your staring. The skin, be it through multiple layers of inhibiting wool and cotton, feels familiar. Like the touch of warm blanket, heated by my own body, the smell, the taste, all familiar and comforting. 

The room is small and dim, the moment we'd enter, you'll pull me to a corner. Start kissing, it feels like the first kiss. The very first one, which stupefies and satiates only to be repeated over and over again. Your lips taste like that of a new lover, whose passion hasn't worn out, who hasn't been many places. So I dive in to suck in more of that innocence. Your hands move onto my back, underneath the sweater and it sends a chill, such cold hands. I make us stop for a moment, look into your eyes, tell you I love you and kiss your flaws. Flaws of imbecile love and unrequited wishes, flaws from dreadful dreams and miles of distance.

Despite the doubt, fear and transiency, I pull you over me. Ah! How warm you are now, and how perfectly we fit together, how well our contours embrace each other and don't demand too many movements.I ask you again, if you are sure, you remain silent and put your lips over mine, all over again. The dimness has turned into dark, and this doesn't feel like I thought it would. Its like the hunger is gone. We are still high but are overcome by a strange sadness..not sad really..but a poignant heavy love. But you come over me again, and it feels unlike anything. Its not sex, and its not making love, its like a confession, a surrender, a submission of flaws. I take you in warmly and we are in something extra ordinary.Greatly satisfying and piercing.

I wish I could write more, I thought a lot more, but there is a knock on the door, it must be him. 

Goodbye.

Unfaithfully, yours.