The Sink Was Full Of Fishes

When you, in the core of a plain emotional vortex, might attempt to excerpt words out from clear, but too totalizing sensations, the awareness will come that not even the richest of languages could verbalize really ideas, standing a step back, or maybe ahead the concept that has to be expressed, avoiding to correspond it fully.
Our two guys didn't need anything but facing one another holding their hands together to erase every possible doubt about what was happening between them.Sit on a bed they were trying to call with name their heartbeat, but one could have intuition about, seeing them, that in the end all that they wanted was to perceive that satisfaction in feeling that heart jumping again inside their chests.
They had met, they had already loved and left one another, but without dividing their existences for real, ever,and now they were meeting again to find back one another and to realize nothing else would have made them as happy than compose an item again. And the more they were studying one another, the less they were in need of sounds between themselves.
Instinctively they knew they both were different from the persons whom used to stay in that same room time ago, and not merely for they both were one year older: they tried to find in the face, in the look of the significant half signs of those changes, but there weren't their physicities to have been transformed, it was their consciousness to make everything new and deeper.
Their concepts about their love were makin them two adults: responsible of their own future they were about to try to make the right choices to make it everyday brighter.
Outside the warm August shuffle passed gently enough to make nose reckoning perfumes of an already dying Summer; from the road, the clasping of walks outside and leaves trembling voices sounded like a message of welcome back to her.
Melania felt she belonged to the thousands of faces of that town, she felt again home under its volatile sky, just like in front of a fireplace on Xmas Eve she used to feel peaceful and full of dreams to catch...
"I'm not winning prize for most original sentence in 1996," she said with the blonde head facing the roof like she was trying to find up on the travets the words to be chosen, "but this is in my head.. well... I am like too happy to be here!"
"Meli, you shouldn't say of anything that it makes you TOO happy... you're never happy enough, for me!"
"I know what you mean, but look at it from this perspective: if you, whom are normally logorrhoic, feel so fine and satisfied and grateful to the world to not willing even to find words to explain it, then you're probably in a "too" happy moment..."
She sparkled of joy indeed: Jill was even hesitant in touchin her, scared she were a dream about to fade at the first attempt of erotical approaching... the same old effect she had always got on him: he was desiring that girl like nobody else, but he would have been nonetheless ready and capable of limiting himself at staring at her figure, without posing a single finger onto her skin for months. Contemplative monthly worshipping...Could that maybe be the kind of love Platone had spoken about?
Definitely that love was his reason of life, and he was in need of it more than he was of air, and water and food...It was above everything else he might dig or like...for that love he would have agreed in living into a cage like a fierce animal, restricted and unfree, if only she would have been his mistress.
Melania was observing him as well, but she wasn't able to do it for more than three minutes consecutively time after time: past that limit, the thought she had been almost on the verge of losing him was getting on her till tears were about to come, and for the fear that situation was inspiring her with, and for the relief she had actually escaped it.
But then they got closer and closer, that kind of closeness that invariably stimulates deeper contacts, when in a blink the adrenaline becomes inner heat wave and sexual need penetrates all body, makin it flame and electricity, till everything your horizon comprehends is the surface head-chest-genitals of the one in front of you.