Monk

Se non avessi creato il mio mondo, probabilmente sarei morta in quello degli altri. — Anaïs Nin

Instinct never asks for permission. It arrives uninvited. In the middle of a conversation. In the space between two heartbeats. In the sudden awareness of someone standing much too close. I've always admired good manners. The elegance of restraint. The beautiful discipline of knowing when to walk away. But tonight, something beneath my composure has begun to misbehave. I notice your hands. The warmth in your voice. The way you say my name as though it belongs to a secret we haven't shared yet. I could blame the champagne. The hour. The irresistible atmosphere. But that would be terribly dishonest. Some desires don't begin with a decision. They begin with recognition. A glance held half a second too long. A breath that changes its rhythm. And the delicious realization that I am not quite as sensible as I pretend to be. Still, desire is only an invitation. What happens next is entirely ours to choose. And perhaps that's what makes tonight so wonderfully dangerous. m.

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