Passion is the oxygen of the soul

There is a bar on a remote island. You arrive, order a drink, but not only that. Some come with hope, dreams, and ambition. Others arrive with sadness or weariness, seeking a moment of solace.

A drink, served as the sun sinks into the horizon, surrounded by the echo of ocean waves and the scent of exotic fragrances.

The bartender mixes it, then hands it to you. You take a sip, then another.

Glass in hand, cooler pressed to your palm, you gaze blankly into your thoughts.

Then, in a calm, neutral tone, the bartender says:

“You look in the wrong place. It is not at the bottom of the glass that you’ll find the answers to your questions, but there,” he says, pointing to the horizon.

As one sips, the sun sets. Thoughts grow lighter. The ocean, less immense.

PA

Skunked thoughts

Three years ago, without intention, something began.

No design, no promise just a moment that refused to pass unnoticed.

Three years tomorrow.

A film , Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.

A first kiss.

And something taking shape between us,

quietly, irreversibly never meant to be simple.

It never was.

And still, we remained.

Not out of ease, but out of recognition.

Again and again.

These pages hold traces of us

fragments, crossings, silences, returns.

Not everything is said,

but everything is there.

What we have does not belong to the ordinary language of things.

It resists explanation.

Most people would turn away from it,

or reduce it to something smaller, more acceptable.

But it is not small.

And it is not meant to be understood by anyone else.

It is ours.

I don’t love you loudly.

I love you in constancy.

In the way I remain.

In the way I see you, as you are,

especially when you are with me,

unguarded, exact, true.

That is where I find you.

That is where I choose you.

PA

(Chosen Words and R)

Beauty is something we carry within us.

On days like this, when the sea lies still, when the sky melts into gold at sunset, and everything feels gently surrendered to silence, you can almost touch the essence of it.

It isn’t loud. It doesn’t demand attention.

It lingers in the air, warm and weightless.

The light rests on the water, and the water gives it back without resistance.

The world pauses. The sounds fade away.

And in that pause, beauty becomes something you don’t just see

you breathe it in.

It moves through you quietly,

fills the empty spaces,

and for a moment, you belong completely

to the peace that surrounds you.

PA

Thoughts of beauty

Life is like a book… but there are chapters that are not written in ink.

They are traced on bare skin , slipping beneath the surface, staining the soul with the colours of the senses.

Some pages throb with desire:

where waiting lingers longer than touch,

where glances undress with a slowness no hands could ever master.

Chapters that don’t simply break you they awaken you.

They teach you the exquisite tension of almost,

the art of restraint,

the intoxication of feeling everything… more.

Other chapters breathe in the hush after intimacy,

when bodies remain close but hearts draw even closer,

when desire softens warmer, steadier, real.

These are the pages where love learns the sound of your name,

where passion stops being a spark

and becomes a flame you choose to feed.

And then there are the chapters that alter you forever:

when love is no longer just a feeling,

but a decision, a risk, a surrender.

When you understand that opening yourself completely

is the bravest act you’ll ever commit.

Every page,pleasure, ache, love, loss

conspires to shape who you become.

So don’t close the book too soon.

Don’t stop reading just because a chapter left you breathless… or trembling.

Your most beautiful chapter

the one where desire and love finally recognise each other

may be waiting just a few pages ahead.

Remember…

the story is not over

as long as your heart still aches to feel.

PA

Thoughts

When you dress like that, my imagination settles you in a hushed, cultivated restaurant, linen immaculate, light softened by intention. Nothing rushes you. Nothing reaches. The air carries a faint note of spice and polished wood; crystal murmurs softly when touched; flavours arrive slowly, deliberately, leaving room for anticipation. Your dress does not demand attention it guides it, suggesting rather than revealing. Sight lingers, sound lowers, taste deepens, touch is postponed, scent becomes memory.

Undressing is reserved for after dinner, when elegance has already done its work. And what remains then is not exposure, but gravity, your silhouette composed, your allure unspoken. Beyond the five senses, there is a sixth: the sense of you. It needs no invitation. It simply stays, unmistakable, long after everything else has grown quiet.

PA

Thoughts and R

THE CRACK IN THE WORLD

The forbidden is not what we do.

It’s what we are when no one is watching.

It’s not sex.

It’s not fantasy.

It’s not escape.

It is a presence.

A breach.

A pulse where nothing should be alive.

It speaks without asking to be named.

It burns without seeking permission.

It breathes before anyone admits it exists.

A truth that cannot be spoken aloud,

because saying it becomes judged,

and judgment demands a sentence.

Yet there is no innocence here,

only recognition.

Not roles worn like armor,

not chosen lives,

not rehearsed identities.

Something older breaks through,

a self without etiquette,

unclaimed, unmasked, uninvited.

It doesn’t ask to stay.

It simply refuses to leave.

Distance fails.

Rules bend.

Names shatter.

What is born where it shouldn’t

does not fear the places that forbid it.

It grows in a territory without maps,

and does not die where logic tries to bury it.

It is not a mistake.

Not a whim.

It is the fracture through which breath escapes

when the world is too narrow to contain truth.

Here, air is scarce.

Desire inhales.

Reality exhales.

When you live, you cannot stop breathing.

Stopping would mean ceasing to be who you truly are.

PA

(Thoughts and Truth)

Inside every woman hides a forbidden constellation. Her femininity is not revealed to the eyes, but to the man who knows how to read her silences and unveil, by understanding, the shadows she never speaks of.

PA

(Thoughts & Thruth)

On the Seashore

Many mothers linger by the tide

some glowing, others dimmed,

their fire smothered by the hush of duty.

Once they chose, once they promised,

and the vow grew thin,

like wine drowned in too much water.

Yet under quiet skin they seethe,

volcanoes stilled but never cold,

breath unsteady with the ache of wanting.

A strap slides lower, almost on purpose.

A glance lingers too long,

eyes moist with hunger.

They wait for a tide fierce enough

to pull them under,

to strip the stillness from their bodies,

to make them remember,

for even one night,

the taste of heat,

the shiver of being alive.

PA

(The waiting Tide)

And yet, play with imagination. Turn thoughts into erotic games. Have the desire to take you to your limits. Fulfill you and revel in your pleasures... that is what excites me.

Kissing you deeply, while playing with your sex, bold fingers, penetrating, lips moistened as they trail down to your breast and linger there, teasing with light yet irresistible shivers. Feeling your arousal as it becomes mine.

Then imagine, fantasise, play with yourself, whisper my name, use your hands as if they were mine, let me hear it all...

PA

(Whisper for R)

I adore women's irresistible femininity when they choose to play, to flirt.

The neighbour who, without fail, appears just as I’m on the terrace savouring my glass of white wine stepping out to hang her laundry with her breasts uncovered, feigning surprise at my presence, then blushing shyly each time we cross paths at the doorway.

Or Simona, the new neighbour beneath the beach umbrella, who let me glimpse into her sentimental life while asking me to spread sunscreen across her back.

Perhaps it’s because my thoughts already belongs elsewhere. Still, somehow they all seem to sense it instinctively, circling closer, teasing more for sport than with true intent until the cards are finally laid on the table, and the game truly begins…

PA

(Summer thoughts)

Dark eyes, unyielding, carry a weight you have no wish to confess.

The shadows beneath them, covered with mastery and elegance that becomes you. Never erased betray storms you choose to endure in silence.

I do not need to know their names; I already see them in you.

And then your gaze shifts, a smile flashes toward your friend.

You like being noticed, don’t you?

For an instant you savor the comfort of being admired.

But when you play with your hair, you don’t do it for them.

You do it for me, your dimples deepening, this time born from the heart,

for a stranger

who sees beyond your beauty.

PA

(Passing Thoughts)