Like a moth to a flame

He stood leaning against a tree. An overwhelming silence reigned supreme in this moment, present with him amidst the darkness of the forest. Only a tiny fraction of the moonlight managed to penetrate the dense canopy of trees, and it was this silence that formed the fundamental building block of this place's atmosphere. The play of shadows, the prevailing twilight, and that intense scent of loneliness—his scent, his atmosphere. He lit a cigarette. His first in months. Inhaling deeply, he savored every nanosecond of this beautiful moment.

His mind, relaxed, was in a place from which it was difficult to return. He was immersed in his own world, one that tolerated no strangers.

And yet, someone insistently sought to disturb the peace of this place, which he had temporarily elevated to the status of a temple of peace. He spotted her through the wafting smoke, slowly making her way toward him. "She must have noticed the cigarette's glow," he thought. He was certain that if he hadn't lit it, he would still be alone. "Like a moth to a flame," he chuckled to himself. "But who is the moth, and who is the fire?"

She approached with unusual silence. It seemed to him that with every movement she emphasized her femininity. The shadows refracting across her body played with his imagination, and it seemed to him that he was about to commune with a perfect being. The hand that had created something as beautiful as hers certainly deserved recognition. She passed right by him. He smelled her perfume. "Delicate, but with a hint of madness," he thought. It suited her perfectly. He knew the scent would linger there, constantly reminding him of her presence.

She stopped by the tree opposite him. She leaned back against the trunk, and her hands touched the rough bark.

"A beautiful evening," she said thoughtfully.

There are people who can ask direct questions. They are guided by their curiosity or by misguided compassion and concern. They walk into someone else's life with their boots on and wonder why doors slam shut in their faces. They don't know that most often they are accused of a lack of understanding... Asking directly isn't a bad thing; you just need to set the mood, and the words will flow naturally, true and from the heart.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked after a moment.

"About what once connected us." He replied calmly.

They say the eyes are the mirror of the soul. He looked at her face, trying to detect any trace of reaction, but she turned her head away. She looked completely different now than she had that morning...

***

A ray of rising sun slipped through the window and found its way to the bed. A delicate shadow outlined the shape of her body on the sheets. The smooth, slender edges of this image made him understand how fortunate he was to be with her. He felt incredibly calm, for at that moment, nothing else mattered. The sight before him was one of nature's greatest mysteries. He had the opportunity to experience this mystery at that very moment.

He pressed the computer's power button. The machine, with the quiet hum of its internal systems, signaled that it would be ready to work shortly. He prepared the notes he had made the day before on his way home. He always carried a notebook and a blue pen with him, because, as practice had proven, this set was essential for recording all interesting ideas, regardless of his location. Now, he intended to transfer the words on the paper directly to the computer. He slowly picked up a cup of coffee. The taste of the black beverage refreshed his body and lulled his mind into a state of relaxation. He relished this momentary peace, which acted like a drug on him every day. With each passing day, he appreciated this morning moment even more. Especially today, after spending the night with her.

"Are you up yet?" His voice was calm and warm.

"Yes.

" "I didn't make you coffee because I didn't know when you'd wake up."

He turned to her. She was standing by the door to the room, her green eyes looking at him in a way that gave him extraordinary pleasure. The man's shirt she wore suited her perfectly. The white fabric provided a perfect contrast to her long, auburn hair that fell gently to her shoulders.

"You've been working since morning, as usual. You could at least take it easy today." Her voice conveyed concern and a certain defiance.

She approached him. Her hand gently touched his neck, then began to move lower and lower. Warm fingers roamed his chest. He looked at her and brought her face close to his. He smiled and kissed her.

Words were unnecessary. They only shattered what was perfect. The fleetingness of the moment and all the accompanying emotions needed no description. Just relax, and you'll feel it in the air. A few moments later, they were in the bedroom. This morning wasn't over for them yet…