Winter night tormented by hauling winds. I lie in bed. I can hear that beautiful raspy voice of his:
“I have seen so much in my life: indescribable humiliations, deep scars on burned faces, dreams crushed like broken glass on empty floors.
We desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.
Yet there is no love that can fully satisfy us. The passions of the flesh get exhausted in bed. What is left is exhausted by our imagination.
Physical love does not bind forever. Soul bonds do.”
Memories of a silky African violet nightgown modeling my body.
Ah, where are you? Where are you now?
excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock, [link]