Hot and cold

Like a breath of fresh air, it whispers. It ruffles your hair and messes it up, affectionately. Comforting and safe, like a warm embrace. It sets your hair on end and sends tingles up your spine.

Everything slows down, and you can feel every single heartbeat. Every breath nuzzles you, reminding you of the miracle of life. And as you wonder at how marvelous it is, it steals away your coherent thoughts and leaves you with nothing but a feeling of completeness, a sense of well-being, that you completely forget the why and can only remember the touch of wonder that infused your soul, lifting it to ever greater heights.

And even as your senses are competely overwhelmed, you realise that the focal point is not without, but within. Its touch is light and smooth on your skin, but it rips your heart out with such force that its gentleness is nothing short of astonishing. Its beauty fills your eyes and your ears hum a secret melody, but that is nothing compared to the burst of colour that streaks across your mind and the thunderous crash of pure music that is drowned out only by that soft, gentle, cry of delight. Its taste is sweeter than honey and its scent delightful, but the true savouring is done within the confines of your spirit, a savouring of fire and cold tempered only by the warnth of being safe and secure.

You feel it, you sense it, you embrace it. You know it inside and out, and you delight in it.

And then it dawns on you that such beauty was not meant for one person. It is something to be shared, to be delighted in together. It may be the most beautiful thing you know, but it would be meaningless if you were its sole possessor.

And then you smile, because you are not alone.