@kateringkurnia: yo kerjo yo mberot

Catering Kurnia

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Wednesday 11 September 2024 10:57:18 GMT

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lailatulzahro30 :

assyeeek mbak Andin goyangane🥰

2024-09-11 13:17:32

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عنوان القهوة عندهم بلاك كوفي 5ريال حار أو بارد آيس كركديه 14ريال المشروبات عندهم لذيذه مقارنة بسعرها 😋#عنوان_القهوة #مشروبات @عنوان القهوة

عنوان القهوة عندهم بلاك كوفي 5ريال حار أو بارد آيس كركديه 14ريال المشروبات عندهم لذيذه مقارنة بسعرها 😋#عنوان_القهوة #مشروبات @عنوان القهوة

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gangam style😎💥🤯@agax⭐️ @Lena #trend #dance #dancetrend #dancer #dancers #hiphop #dancing #trending #trio #triodance

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I sat in the kitchen, staring at the cracks on a mug we’d picked up at some flea market a couple of years ago. My mind was a mess—work, money, the conversation we’d started but never finished last week. Outside, the red lights of passing cars blurred together, and for a moment, I thought about how easy it would be to disappear into that endless stream of light. “Hey, come here,” I heard his voice from the living room. Hank was sitting on the couch, slightly disheveled, as he always was by the evening. He held the remote in his hand, even though the TV was off. His voice was so calm, like everything in the world had already been sorted out. “Let’s just cuddle.” I got up, as if on autopilot, and walked toward him. He patted the cushion next to him, and I sat down slowly, like I was afraid of breaking the moment. His arms wrapped around me, and I caught that familiar scent—his faintly faded cologne and something else, something distinctly his. “Are you cold?” he asked, his fingers grazing my shoulders as if to check. I stayed quiet, burying my face in his neck. His shirt was wrinkled, with a coffee stain near the collar, and on his wrist was the same worn leather bracelet he’d been wearing for years. “You know,” I started softly, my throat tightening, “sometimes I’m scared we’ll get stuck, that this will be… it.” His hand gently squeezed mine. “And what’s wrong with that?” he said, pulling back slightly to meet my eyes. “Teeny, if this is it—I’m good with that.” And in that moment, sitting on the couch with his hand steady on my back, I realized: all I needed was “this…”💜🤎

I sat in the kitchen, staring at the cracks on a mug we’d picked up at some flea market a couple of years ago. My mind was a mess—work, money, the conversation we’d started but never finished last week. Outside, the red lights of passing cars blurred together, and for a moment, I thought about how easy it would be to disappear into that endless stream of light. “Hey, come here,” I heard his voice from the living room. Hank was sitting on the couch, slightly disheveled, as he always was by the evening. He held the remote in his hand, even though the TV was off. His voice was so calm, like everything in the world had already been sorted out. “Let’s just cuddle.” I got up, as if on autopilot, and walked toward him. He patted the cushion next to him, and I sat down slowly, like I was afraid of breaking the moment. His arms wrapped around me, and I caught that familiar scent—his faintly faded cologne and something else, something distinctly his. “Are you cold?” he asked, his fingers grazing my shoulders as if to check. I stayed quiet, burying my face in his neck. His shirt was wrinkled, with a coffee stain near the collar, and on his wrist was the same worn leather bracelet he’d been wearing for years. “You know,” I started softly, my throat tightening, “sometimes I’m scared we’ll get stuck, that this will be… it.” His hand gently squeezed mine. “And what’s wrong with that?” he said, pulling back slightly to meet my eyes. “Teeny, if this is it—I’m good with that.” And in that moment, sitting on the couch with his hand steady on my back, I realized: all I needed was “this…”💜🤎

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