From the first message to the last mile, we fed a spark that burned low and hot across a continent— a quiet fire humming under every word, every pause, every breath we shared in the dark.
Through seasons of longing, through whispers that curled like smoke through the night, through calls that left my pulse remembering your voice long after we hung up, we shaped a world out of want and tenderness— each word an ember, each silence a slow, smoldering flame.
And when you flew to me—when your body finally pressed into mine and we set out across the country together— the miles didn't disappear; they surrendered, melting into heat and heartbeat, into the steady rise of a love that refused to stay quiet.
On that road, with your hand in mine and your breath warm against my skin, I learned that love isn't the end of wandering— it's the place where desire finds its home, where fire learns the shape of a name, where two souls rise, again and again.