Romance
Love stories, emotional connection, tender moments
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September 14th, 5:12 AM
You stood there like a goddamn monument to my own poor decisions, dripping wet and holding a stolen bottle of Barolo.
Willa's Bracelet
The clasp snagged on the cuff of my jacket, a tiny silver anchor keeping us moored in a room full of people we both despised.
Gauge
I could feel the vibration of the tracks through her hip bones, a steady thrumming that made every slide of my hand feel like a confession.
The Salt Cave
I told him the mud wrap was a spiritual cleansing, but I really just wanted to see if his composure would crack under the silt.
April 12th, 6:14 AM
I’ve spent ten years trying to write a chemistry read that felt half as inevitable as the way your knees bracketed my hips.
—but you're the one holding the light meter
She’s standing there in that silk slip looking like a tactical error I’m about to make with my eyes wide open.
Watch the Rope
The linen of my sundress was scratchy against my sunburn, but his hand was rougher, catching on the fabric like a burr.
Did You Ever Get the Ice Out of Your Coat?
He smelled like the cold air of Union Station and expensive wool, a combination that made my throat tighten like a poorly drafted non-compete.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you're-going-to-get-mud-on-that-silk"-425-cover-1780128052025.jpg)
"You're Going to Get Mud on That Silk"
Her skin tasted like expensive gin and the kind of rain that only falls when you’re somewhere you don't belong.
Lactic
Her skin tasted like the first pinch of fleur de sel on a raw scallop—sharp, clean, and promising something rich underneath.
Will You Still Want the Negative?
He didn’t use a tripod; he held the camera like a weapon, or a shield, or maybe just a reason not to touch me.
Can You Still Reach the High Notes?
I felt the callus on his thumb catch against my inner thigh, a rough, familiar friction that made my vision blur.