Some stories follow a familiar path—strangers, friends, lovers, strangers again. Ours? Strangers, friends, lovers, friends, lovers, friends... lovers? The cycle never quite breaks, never quite settles. Always lingering, always waiting.
Time has pulled us apart before, distance widening the space between what once was effortless closeness. The kind where bodies knew each other before words ever had to. Where touch was second nature, and silence never felt empty.
Tonight, there is no distance. No miles stretching between us, no screens mediating connection. Just proximity. Just presence. Just the undeniable gravity that has always pulled us back together.
The evening unfolds in a blur of conversation and laughter, the kind that feels like slipping into a well-worn rhythm. Drinks loosen inhibitions, but it’s not the alcohol that ignites the spark—it was always there, waiting. Waiting beneath the surface of old memories and quiet longings. Waiting for the moment when time would allow us to exist in the same space again.
Are we rewriting the past, or simply reliving a moment we never truly left behind? Nostalgia, desire, uncertainty—they all tangle together, impossible to separate. The past presses against the present, reminding us of everything we were, everything we still might be.
The heart doesn’t wear a watch. It doesn’t count days or measure distance. It only knows what it wants, what it has always wanted.
Tonight, we are here. And maybe that’s enough.
To be continued...
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