A choke-hold on my throat; a heat flows through my veins. As if I've been set afire and I'm naked in the cold. Skin alive with sensation. Fingers brush across keys and I hold my breath as I see him do the same. Wait; for words have power. Life begins with words and ends with words. All that is in between is pages of a book. Hours pass in moments. Words appear and disappear. At times our words touch, overlap, dance seductively around each other.

We're writing a story.

I see him as he sees me. It's not our images next to each we SEE. At times this moment is the past; I'm no longer in this room or anywhere but he's there with me. Skim my finger across the smooth surface of my lip, leaving a tingling trail as if it was his mouth on mine - soft brushes. Urge to feel. His words enchant and arouse - send shivers top to bottom. These words are not of lust and love but time out of mind; souls affiliated through unconventional happenstance. Nudged here by unseen conspirators.

Words in the air around my head both said and unsaid, bringing a wash of longing mingling with hope. Walls fall around me, soft thuds rather than the familiar thundering crash. Something is wrapping 'round me, warming cold skin - places forgotten.

The unplanned occurrence can be the salvation of what you've become... I'm awake again.

He is strong, more than I, and he prods for words he knows are there while threads tug at the corners of my heart, working my words to the surface from that place I hid them well. I'm not afraid; I swim slowly to the surface.

These words of mine he knows are meant for him. I leave them here to say I'm not afraid. We're writing a story.

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