We never hugged... Only our wings touched in a smooth struggle and our butterflies mixed, thrown innocently into a chaotic, frighteningly pure game! My hands never caressed you even in thought. My lips never touched you... Only in the late nights, collapsed in a dream, the images of the moon pierced me, crying! We each suffocated in a perfect sphere... Only naked souls ran between us, secretly terrified by the stream of love that we were swallowing in a demented oblivion. No song connects us anymore and the sphere is broken. If only there weren't so many strange butterflies in flight! Only sometimes I turn to ask you:...don't you miss the hugs that never happened?

That evening was noisy and crowded, with soft light pouring from the lamps and a subtle aroma of coffee hanging in the air. But for me, everything changed the moment you sat down at my table. You didn’t say a word, but there was already a spark in your eyes that drew me in like a magnet. The cafe was full of conversations and laughter, but I only heard your breathing, your gaze that never left me. You were sitting across from me, leaning forward slightly so that our faces were almost at the same level. At that moment, I felt the space around them narrow. You didn’t speak, but I felt your fingers barely touching my leg under the table. A light touch, barely perceptible, but it was like a spark that ignited everything inside. My heart beat fast and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from yours. The fingers of your hands sliding over the skin of my leg, hidden under the fabric. Everything happened slowly, but this slow rhythm was even more intense than a fast storm. Every movement of your hand was a promise, but it did not come true, and this created a feeling of magic in the air. In this cafe, full of bustle, no one knew what was happening here. I was like in another world, where no one existed except the two of us. Your hand touched my thigh and this touch was so light, but it filled me completely. I could barely hold my breath, and you, as if knowing my fear and desire, did not rush. My skin responded to your touch, like a string stretched to the limit. I let your hand rise a little higher, as my fingers began to search for you under the table, sliding along the fabric of your shirt. I feel like my hands found your zipper on the fly. Do you want me to open it? And though the words and sounds continued to fly, in our little corner of time they didn't exist. There was only this quiet, pulsating desire that filled us to the brim.