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The Golden Hour of Loving
The Golden Hour of Loving: Twilight Moments Between Trauma and Tenderness
Dear reader, I want to talk to you about when yesterday’s storms color today’s clear skies, and how to feel the warmth again
In the amber light of evening, when shadows stretch long across our living room floor, I find myself apologizing for rain that isn’t falling. Your eyes — summer-warm and questioning — watch as I frantically wipe at dry surfaces, preparing for a downpour that exists only in memory. This is what remains after trauma: seeing dark clouds in cerulean skies, hearing thunder in your gentle laughter, feeling the need to carry umbrellas on the most brilliant of days.
The Silver-Edged Periphery
When you reach for me across white cotton sheets, sunlight streaming through half-drawn curtains, my body sometimes betrays me — tensing at tenderness, bracing against softness. Your fingertips trace question marks along my spine, and I struggle to translate their meaning, my skin having learned a different language long ago.
I didn’t understand how thoroughly I’d been rewired until I found myself drowning in the clear waters of your affection.
The first time you whispered “It’s okay” against my temple with no hidden undercurrent —…
