Laura watched the rain fall through her apartment window. Outside, the world moved at its own pace, but inside her, something pulsed differently. At 58, she knew she was no longer young, but she didn’t feel faded. On the contrary. Her body carried the marks of the years, but her soul still danced like a flame in the wind.
She put on the black lace lingerie she had bought weeks ago. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. There was a glow there, something time hadn’t stolen. She dabbed on a warm-scented perfume and slipped into a form-fitting dress of deep red.
The doorbell rang. She opened the door and found Miguel, his well-groomed gray hair and that look in his eyes that always sent a shiver through her. He took her in from head to toe and smiled—a slow smile, the kind of smile that knew how to appreciate beauty.
— You look stunning — he said.
Laura took his hand and pulled him inside.
— And you’re late.
They laughed. He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt the heat of his skin against hers. Laura had never feared time. What she feared, if anything, was a life lived without passion. And she wouldn’t allow that to happen.
On the dining table, a bottle of wine waited, but they weren’t in a hurry. He pulled her closer, and their lips met as if the years were nothing but irrelevant numbers. The desire was there, burning, as intense as it had ever been.
And so Laura lived—unafraid of the marks of time, unwilling to let her fire fade. Because she knew that desire didn’t belong to youth, but to those brave enough to keep it burning.
