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Daya Knight, Brad Sterling Pic(s)
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the crowded room, a frequency that seemed to sync with the sudden, heavy rhythm in my chest. My gaze, drifting absently over the shifting sea of strangers, snagged and held, arrested by the sight of you leaning agat the far wall. There was an impossible familiarity in the subtle curve of your smile, a ghost of a memory I couldn’t quite grasp yet felt deep in my bones. The ambient light caught the sharp angle of your jaw, casting a soft shadow that traced a path down your throat to the open collar of your shirt. I watched, mesmerized, as your fingers absently traced the rim of your glass, a slow, deliberate circle that promised a similar, tantalizing caress. The air between us thickened, charged with an unspoken recognition that bypassed reason and spoke directly to the blood. Every other sound faded into a distant murmur, leaving only the sound of my own breath catching as your eyes finally lifted and met mine. A jolt, pure and electric, arced across the space, a silent acknowledgment that sparked a heat low in my belly. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the unspoken question hanging in the smoky air, a promise of an intimacy waiting to be rediscovered.
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