Beneath the soft glow of a crescent moon, I recall the fervor in your eyes—a silent plea for a solitary night. A night where we could dissolve into one another, breathing in the essence of our beings, imprinting memories on our very skin. You yearned for a fleeting taste, a momentary bliss, to know the flavor of love that lingers on the tongue, sweet and intoxicating.

Yet, I stood firm, a guardian of my own heart, fearing the agony of longing that might follow. I argued that desire for the unknown could tear the soul asunder, that the ache of missing what we’ve never held could be the cruelest torment. But now, as I wander through the echoes of what could have been, I understand the true depth of yearning.

To crave the touch of one who has brushed against your soul, to hunger for the kiss that has never graced your lips—this is the most profound sorrow. For now, I am haunted by the ghost of your presence, the phantom caresses of your hands, the spectral taste of your kiss. And in this wistful reverie, I realize that the most exquisite pain is not in craving what we’ve tasted once, but in yearning for the love we’ve never dared to savor.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer