Two months without you.
The silence of these two months will not be an absence; it will be an intense density. An invisible magnetic field that unites us each day, from shore to shore, reminding us that skin has memory and that desire, when postponed, becomes a physical form: like two intertwined particles that, no matter how many kilometers and calendars separate them, suffer, vibrate, and beat in exact unison.
Danger is never on the calm surface, but in what hides beneath the current.
We have already navigated this time, holding back, biting our lips to keep from screaming the urgency of touch. And yet, thinking about the moment of our reunion has the precision of clockwork and the fever of an erotic tale.
Like a labyrinth of mirrors where the only reality is the temperature of your body waiting for me in the future.
Imagine for an instant the exact second that distance collapses.
There will be no words, because words are clumsy tools for the shipwrecked. There will be a collision, a clash, an animalistic recognition, and an urgent instinct, the kind that leaves you breathless.
My hands, which today trace the empty air, searching for the outline of your waist on a piece of my skin, will memorize every beat of your chest, slowly, with the desperation of someone who has spent too long thirsty before a forbidden spring.
I will bite the corner of your lips, graze your neck with the same patience with which fire devours dry wood, until I draw that deep sigh I know so well, the one that confirms you are still mine, indelibly etched in my thoughts, despite time and the calendar.
Think of this whenever the loneliness of the night feels heavy and overwhelming: every second of this abstinence is an investment of pure energy for the moment we become one again. And when we meet, when we can finally touch and kiss without pause, the outside world will stop completely, just like in the laws of physics when two bodies, after a long resistance, finally dare to collide.
They say that hot water on the back often triggers images that reason tries unsuccessfully to censor; where there are invisible guests in every shower.
Imagine that first second when I have you in front of me again, before we can even say each other's names.
