Quiet thunder Stories

I do not know when I began to yearn for things beyond my reach— but you, you were always more than touch. You were scent upon the stillness of wind, a warmth left in sheets I never laid beside. Your absence, carved in the shape of desire, fills the room like something never exhaled. Your hair— not merely silk, but the hush of time sliding past. Strands that fold as if they understand how everything we love will one day re...