What The Body Remembers
Between breath and skin, something stayed
The massage had left her body warm and open. Her skin still buzzed with the softness of touch. Her breath was slow. Her heart quiet. It was one of those peaceful days where she felt entirely in her own rhythm. No pressure. No demands. Just being. She relaxed by the pool on a day bed in the shade, coconut freshly delivered, ereader ready for her. The world felt generous. And still— he had found her. Not in the street, not in a message. In a dream from the night before. How in the dream, none of the silence existed. None of the distance. Only them. It had been so alive. So physical. So present. And now, in the middle of her peaceful day, her chest ached. A quiet pulling beneath her ribs, as if her soul was reaching for something it had once held in its hands. No, it wasn’t merely a dream. It was like his essence, unbound by time and space, was brushing against her soul as if it had always been waiting. Old and new at once, it left an indelible impression— a blend of tender ache and quiet wonder. Is it the memory? The missing of what once was? No it wasn’t just a dream. It was an echo—a gentle reminder that even in sleep, his presence lingered— timeless and familiar. He was still there. Somewhere. Somehow. .
For the One Who Feels It Too
Thank you for reading this piece of memory.
If it stirred something inside you
a moment, a longing, a quiet ache—
then this story has done what it came to do.
Though written from a personal place,
it was always meant to echo beyond me.
May it meet you where you are.
In the silence, in the remembering,
in the rhythm only your heart understands.
I'm grateful you're here.