It was a Friday filled with almost nothing, suffocated by monotony, where even a smile felt distant, as if the air itself had grown too heavy to hold anything light, tender… And then it came, without permission, not softly, not gently, but as a sudden surge of nostalgia, almost intrusive, as if the past refused to stay where it belonged and pushed its way into the present without asking. Excuse me… excuse me… pushing me backwards…
I sat there, right there… feeling it arrive inside me like a torture; one sensation after another, without order, in a complete mess, without pause, as if something long buried had opened and could no longer be contained. And for once, I did not resist. I let it move through me. I let it take me, take over me deeply, turning me upside down like a tornado of emotional confusion.
There was an entire past living in my body, fragments of warmth, absence, touch, things that had not disappeared but had only been waiting. There was a hot wave taking place. And that night, almost instinctively, I reached for what still held heat, what still lingered under the surface, still lifting me against my will.
And then, suddenly, I was no longer there.
A hotel room, on a Sunday morning.
White sheets, revolved and undone, carrying the faint imprint of skin, as if the body had pressed itself into the fabric and left something behind that refused to fade. It was there, in the momentum, refusing to go, now present. The air was light, touched by a quiet freshness of a soft breeze, and the sunlight entered slowly through the window, spreading across the room, resting gently, deliberately, as if it knew exactly where to land.
I paused, just to breathe a little.
I let the light reach me, settle over my skin like a warm embrace, warm but unhurried, moving slowly as if time itself had softened. There was something in that moment, something that didn’t rush, something that stayed… a perfect cadence.
And then… I was there again. Bare and completely open. Without distance between my body and what I felt. I felt it so deep, just like a fever taking over me… taking over me.
I was held for a long second.
Not just in arms, but in something deeper, something that moved through me, steady and quiet, yet impossible to ignore. The warmth of another body close to mine, the subtle weight, the slow awareness of skin against skin, everything unfolding without words, without interruption, without the need to explain… oneness.
There was no urgency. No question. No absence. Only presence, full, surrounding, something that filled every space from the inside out.
The rest… the rest does not belong to language.
It belongs to what lingers in the body, to what stays long after the moment has passed, to what is felt again, and again, even in silence.
Andréia Silva
Andréia Silva 
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