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When the rain pours down in a cold November evening, pour me a glass of red wine. Let me watch you spread the blanket across the floor while I take the sip. When you’re done arranging the pillows and cushions together, take my hand and lead the way. As we settle into the blanket bed you’ve created, breathe into my skin and whisper slowly into my ears asking about my dreams.

While we settle into the blanket fort that you’ve created, let me go back to my past and start the story, “When I was five years old, I wanted to be a tree…”
“So that you can provide shelter and shade?”
“No, so that I can reach far and wide by spreading my roots and branches. Don’t laugh, but I thought if I was a tree, I could reach high up the sky and deep down the soil. Only when my high school teacher called me Kuwako bhyaguto for being so limited within Kathmandu, I dreamt of being an aimless wanderer.”

When I finish telling you about my dream, pull me closer so that I can feel the muscles under your shirt. Wrap your arms tightly around my waist and nibble into my ears. When I giggle, turn me around. Hold my face by your hands and stare into my eyes. Kiss me slowly. As you gently part my lips and let your tongue find the deepest corners of my mouth, run your hands through my hair and ask me about my fear.

And when you slowly caress my back, tracing my skin like you would outline a map, make me shiver and hear me speak. “I have always been afraid of being stuck – with people, places, and things. That’s why I am always moving, slowly and suddenly, never settling, never nestling. But now I am also afraid of never finding a home. That I wouldn’t let anyone enough time, even myself to enjoy life because I am afraid of missing out.”

When I am done with talking, hold my face and kiss me again. Then gently move towards my neck as you unbutton my shirt and my pants and everything underneath them. While you use your tongue to explore my body, let me slide my hand under your sweaty t-shirt and pull you out of it. When you finally reach my fountain of joy, ask me about what makes me alive. As I pull your hair with my eyes closed, searching for the right word, listen to my moan.

“The hunger and the curiosity. How life goes up and down, up and down like a roller coaster ride…”

Distract me with your tongue and its pleasure.

“… how we roll around and move with the rhythm of…” make me stop in the middle of the sentence as you discover my secrets “… heartbeat.”

Let me stop you in the middle, to pull you up and kiss. I want to taste what you’ve tasted. Let me bite your lips as my legs slide down your trousers, carry me into your realm. Demand that I continue.
“Breathing in and out. Always back and forth. The thirst and the thrust.”

When we both lay beside each other with a smirk on our faces, snuggle with me in the blanket. As we slowly travel across our dreamland, with heavy eyes and tired bodies, listen to me murmur about what makes me happy. “A cone of chocolate ice cream in a hot summer day. A warm cup of tea on a warm winter afternoon. Silly jokes and weird faces. A tight bear hug. A book that makes me feel. People I love….”

But leave without a note, the next morning, even before the sun wakes up. That way you don’t have to know that I always wake up to disappointment after a night full of love.