Description
Your touch doesn’t fade—it burns. Hours pass, but I still feel you under my skin, threading through my thoughts. You live in my head like a fever that never breaks, a bloom of fantasy that swells until it aches. I feel dumb, dazed, diseased with desire. You’ve become the sweet infection no cure can reach.
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All artworks are original creations by Aminath Rooba Ali. Unauthorized reproduction, copying, or redistribution is prohibited.
