This winter, I catch myself with a strangely adult, yet ridiculously true, desire:
I really crave a miracle.
The very one that can enter life quietly... and change everything.

Sometimes I lie in bed, listen to the snow falling outside, and think:
what if somewhere right now there's a man who's also looking out the window and feeling like he's missing someone?
Someone warm, tender...
Someone who can be his winter warmth.

And I want to confess one thing.
I so want to find my person this winter.
The real one.

Someone I'll want to reach for at night, someone who can hold me so tightly that the cold, the fatigue, and the entire world outside the bedroom disappear.
Someone who will kiss me slowly... as if exploring my every desire.
Someone to whom I'll want to whisper the most intimate things, trusting not only my body, but myself.

This winter awakens something feminine, something desirable within me.
There's so much tenderness in me... so much warmth...
and so many unwritten kisses that I'm saving for the one who wants to be my miracle.

I want winter mornings when you wake up in warm embraces, not in an empty bed.
I want evening kisses that make your knees melt.
I want those quiet moments when two people understand each other without words—just with their breath.

I'm waiting.
But this anticipation is pleasant, sweet, almost languid.

I think this winter is preparing something.
It's too tender, too magical...
too sensual to pass by without a trace.

And I believe:
one of these evenings, when the snow falls slowly and softly...
my miracle will finally find me.💕