He asked me to bring chocolate.

So I arrived with chocolate frosting, syrup, and a small jar of rainbow sprinkles — as if preparing a painter’s palette.

We both knew this would be our last evening together for a while, and the anticipation shimmered between us.

Eventually, laughter and curiosity took over. I opened the frosting and began to paint delicate flowers across his chest, each petal a small act of affection.

The air was filled with the scent of sweetness and joy…the kind of play that blurs art, intimacy, and childhood wonder.

We ended up lying side by side, gazing at the ceiling, both of us sticky with chocolate.  He told me stories of his first innocent encounters with curiosity and connection

— the kind that begins long before we understand what love really is.

There was something sacred in that moment. Two souls, covered in chocolate, remembering the simplicity of being human…before goodbyes, before labels, before the world asked us to be anything other than curious and kind.

Maybe that’s what intimacy really is — the art of remembering innocence, together.

XO, A