Pablo 2

Dear diary,
This week felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.
After that unforgettable night in the alley with Pablo — something shifted. What began as tension and adrenaline bloomed into warmth, laughter, and something dangerously close to love.We spent nearly every day together.
In the mornings, we’d walk along the shoreline, bare feet in the cool sand, letting the waves wash over our toes. He always brought two coffees — mine exactly how I like it — and we’d sit on a bench watching the city slowly wake up. He liked to trace circles on my leg with his thumb as we talked. He was so present. So there.One morning, after a night of teasing touches and barely-contained tension, I woke up to feel his hand sliding slowly across my stomach.
He didn’t say a word — just kissed the back of my neck and let his body press into mine, hard and ready.The way he moved behind me was unhurried, deliberate — his breath against my ear, one hand guiding my hips, the other gripping my chest. I could barely breathe from the pleasure.
The steam from the shower was still rising as we stumbled in together, him pinning me gently against the tile, kissing me like I was oxygen.
It was rougher that morning. Hungrier.
Like we both knew time was slipping through our fingers and we wanted to leave marks where memories might fade.One afternoon we had a picnic in the park.
Pablo made sandwiches. He was surprisingly terrible at them, but I didn’t care. We laid out on the grass, letting the sun warm our skin while our laughter echoed between the trees. I remember his head resting in my lap, eyes closed, completely at peace. I traced my fingers through his curls and wondered how it could feel so natural, so soon.And then there were the nights.
God, the nights.Some were quiet — curled up on the couch, a bottle of wine between us, something playing on the TV that we barely watched. He’d pull me close, my head resting on his chest, his fingers sliding through my hair while the soft glow of the screen danced across our skin.And some nights...
Some nights were fire.After a fun night out we undressed and went drunk into the bathroom , steam clinging to the air. I had just stepped in when he followed, pressing his body to mine under the spray.
Water ran down our skin, but all I felt was him — the heat of his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips, the weight of his chest against my back.
He whispered things in Spanish I barely understood, but didn’t need to.
His touch said everything.
It was slow. Intense. Like we had all the time in the world.
And for a moment, we did.Another night, in bed, he kissed me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth.
There was no rush — just eyes locked, breath shared, hands exploring like they’d never get the chance again.
We made love like it was the first time, and the last.
He said my name over and over again like a prayer, and I clung to him like I was afraid of the morning.Afterward, we laid tangled in each other, barely speaking, only touching — foreheads pressed, fingers tracing shoulders, hearts still racing.
I think that was the moment I realized I was falling for him.
Not just the body.
The soul.But the night before he left —
That was something else.We barely made it to the bedroom. Clothes trailed behind us on the floor like petals. He pushed me back onto the bed and crawled over me with that look in his eyes — pure fire, pure want.He kissed every inch of me, slowly, like tasting the last bite of something sweet.
His mouth explored me without hesitation, and I returned the favor. We moved together like we’d done it a hundred times — like we were learning and remembering all at once.It was passionate. Raw. Beautiful.
We whispered things neither of us will ever repeat. We didn’t sleep much.
And I didn’t want to.He packed quietly in the morning. I helped fold his shirts, pretending like it wasn’t breaking me.
At the airport, we stood a little too long in each other’s arms.
He kissed me one last time, slowly, deeply — as if to say, remember this.
Then he whispered, “I’ll see you again, mi amor.”
And just like that, he was gone.Now I’m back in my room. The sheets still smell like him. My skin remembers every touch.
And my heart — My heart is aching.But also…
hopeful.Because sometimes, even a short chapter can leave a mark that lasts forever.
And I think Pablo's name is written on mine.