The rain tapped soft rhythms against the window, the breeze slipping in to kiss our skin. We weren’t still. Our limbs tangled and shifting, slow like tides, our dog circling, sighing, settling again. Laughter bubbled up between us, quiet and close, as you leaned in to steal another kiss. The couch became a small world, a drifting island where we moved in murmurs and touches, brushing hair, tracing faces. Outside, the world blurred in water and wind. Inside, everything pulsed. Alive. Warm. Real. We moved not to break the silence but to deepen it, to write something tender into the rainy dark.