Wrap me

«That was the wonderful thing about summer:

you could live in a dream.»

Ray Bradbury – Dandelion wine

I feel the warmth flooding through me like wine, though I’ve never tasted it before. And I don’t think there will ever be a moment when I will. But I reckon this feeling is close to the first sip of warm black tea after a winter stroll. I’m shining from the inside — because of him. I’m happy. To be honest, I’m smiling this wide almost for the first time in my life. And he’s near me. The one who puts a smile on my face with just a few words. I’m looking at him so intently. I can’t fully express the happiness and gratitude I feel for him. For so long, we’ve been walking hand in hand. I know I can’t afford such blasphemy, but I confess with all my heart — I want to embrace him. Right now. Despite everyone around us. Despite everything. I want to be as close to him as possible, to melt into him for just a few seconds. I want to feel his hands on my shoulders. I want to stay in his arms like a child with their parent. I don’t want anything else. I need him the way fish need water, the way fire needs air, the way hope needs prayer. I’ve told myself a thousand times not to cross the line. It’s enough to be nearby. I should be grateful for what I have. But now… As if the whole world freezes. The closer he is to me, the quieter the voices become. They fade somewhere far in the background. I turn to him and see his smiling face. He’s shining — and so am I. I don’t fully understand how important this moment is for him, but I feel that I’ve reached something. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. And he — only he — helped me get here. Guided me, showed me where the light is. I can’t stand it any longer. I cling to him and hug him as tightly as I can, wrapping my arms around his waist, my fingers locking behind his back. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but he doesn’t push me away. Instead, he places his hand on my head and strokes it gently, like I’m something fragile. I bury my face in his chest, as if I could get lost there forever. He breathes steadily one hand resting on my shoulder. I feel his fingers tighten slightly — just for a second as if he’s hesitating whether to let himself do this. And somehow… that comforts me, making me feel safe. I know he will never hurt me. Never allow it. I want to stay here forever. Please, don’t let this moment end. I want to breathe it in completely. I don’t want to go back to that horrible world — the one that waits to break and crush you at any moment. Here, everything is different. Here, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I listen to his breathing and match it, as if it’s the only thing that matters. Time no longer seems to exist. There is no “before” or “after”. Only this moment, stretched into infinity. I close my eyes, trying convince myself that it’s enough — that I don’t need anything beyond it. His warm hand is still resting in my hair. It makes me feel safe… and yet something quietly aches deep inside me. I know I can’t stay like this forever. There won’t be another moment like this, and this thought scares me most. It'll end — as everything does. But maybe that’s exactly the reason why it matters so much. I wouldn’t treasure it so much if I knew there would be a hundred more chances. Maybe it’s enough that it happened at all: he’s here, I’m here, the world stopped for a second — and I can’t hear or see anything, yet I can feel how fast his heart is beating. I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want him to step back. I don’t want him to pull away. I don’t want this moment to end. Slowly, I step back, afraid to open my eyes too quickly — as if everything might disappear. But he’s still here. And I smile. Quietly. Almost imperceptibly. Because now I have it. A small, warm “forever” that lasted only a few seconds. When I take a step back, everything returns. The chairs are still there. People are still applauding. The light still fills the room. But something is different.