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Artist sees his muse in a new light.

am, I think, with the most beautiful woman in the world, blood in my alcohol stream, a perfect sunny day, a perfect place among lush green grasses overlooking the city miles away- what more can a mere mortal man like me want?

I slowly trace a path from your face, down the soft swell of your breasts to your bare legs, folded at the knees and slightly leaning against mine, with the dress bunched up all thanks to my friend Gravity, not revealing but definitely making my eyes wander. I give you a nudge asking if you'd want one. You murmur yes. The laziness of the morning catching up with us after a nail biting, back breaking month of exams. Our well-deserved escape from the confines of the college hostel and classrooms complemented by such a fortuitous weather makes us all more eager to catch the missed out forty winks more than anything else.

I open the chiller and find only one left. So we share, taking swigs out of the same bottle. In silence. Somehow we spend minutes that suddenly pass on to hours in absolute silence, yet in perfect sync with each other. I turn to my left, facing you and suddenly overwhelmed by a monstrous feeling of longing I drape my arm just below your breasts and snuggle up to you, nuzzling the side of your neck, yet not really kissing. If you are startled, you don't show. And amongst the countless heartbeats that slowly synchronizes from two rhythms to one, we fall asleep.

I wake up sometime later. I discover two things: that the sun has well past near its prime and is now drooping towards senescence. And that you haven't moved away, rather cradled my head in your arm and slipped another over mine.

I'm washed over with a sudden sense of fulfillment. I take a moment to take in my slice of heaven on earth. I look at your face. So close to mine. Unruly curls framing it beautifully, framing an expression of bliss. My arm moves a up and down in a lethargic manner along with the little movements of your chest, signifying that we are still alive. Not in heaven yet. Yet? Well it can't get any closer than this.

I look back and see you looking a me. Lips parted. Slightly. My breath suddenly get laboured. Slightly. I move forward. So do you. Slightly. Decreasing the space between us by a microscopic variable. I don't know whether moments or millennias passed like this. But we don't kiss. As if kissing would ruin the magic.

There's that urge back again and I envelope you in a bear hug and I'm pleasantly surprised to find you hugging back tighter.

There's nothing sexual in this. But it is as if I get flooded with relief and ecstasy, a mind numbing sensation.

The sounds of drunken revelry reach us, floating up the slope of the land. We should get back. But somehow it feels unimportant. Everything does. Us included. It is as if we had bid reality adieu for some precious never to come back moments and we were clinging on to its fading remnants.

"We need to go back", you say finally, breaking out of our reverie.

I don't move, neither do you.

"I wish I could dance with you someday." I say out almost to myself.

"I'd like to dance with you someday.

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