The Freedom of Affection

 

It had never been our intention, but as the months passed the tone of our correspondence changed as we had grown to know one another.

The overly professional formality slipped away, replaced by a friendly rapport and it became evident there was a mutual mental attraction. We shared stories about our lives, our travels, the similarities of our experiences both striking and comforting.

A statement that resonated so deeply it made me feel completely opaque, my surface layers stripped away to a place no-one had ever seen before.

The palpable excitement I felt the first time we met was barely containable. Theimmediate fluidity of our conversation translated to tactile affection; a light touch on my arm, a hand placed at the small of my back,so innocently given, yet electrifyinglyreceived. Even your smell invoked a forgotten memory, a familiarity I couldn’t place but immediately recognised– a combination of spicy patchouli withdelectable notes of nutmeg, cinnamon and clove, aromas I have grown to cherish.

 

 

 

We would amble through the charming streets frequented only by locals, visiting the tucked away tavernas you knew, while    talking late into the warm evenings.

 And so I write this as I begin the final journey that will bring me to your side. The place I belong, the place my life makes sense, the place I call home, because before I even knew, it was always with you.

 

 

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