Read this and learn the style "There once was a time when I used to think the hardest thing Tina could ever ask me --be it spoken aloud directly or hinted at indirectly--, was the simple yet profound request for trust. And she did this two years ago, when she wrote me a note filled with the ink of love, binding my swirling thoughts to the singular hope of seeing her once more, urging me to believe and trust in her heart. But the lunch at the Plaza, which my body is currently attending, eclipses anything Tina could have asked of me. And this is because, here in this room, I share the space with Tina, the air with her, yet I am seated invariably, irrevocably next to my wife. Never in my life have I desired more to easily disentangle myself from this; I have never regretted more not doing so when I could have. "Bette, you're acting strange today. Are you okay?" Her voice reaches me as I stare blankly upon the the porcelain emptiness of my plate. I don't want to lift my gaze; I don't want to risk seeing Tina sitting so close without being able to touch her Not yet, at least. So, I concentrate on the void that stretches out before me, allowing the choking tendrils of anxiety to inch up my throat unabated. "All is well, truly; my appetite just seems to have taken leave of me" I respond and take a modest sip of water, and then reluctantly gracing my wife with a glance. A smile attempts to break through, its authenticity questionable at best in the moment. Watching her as she deftly maneuvers the silverware, an elegance she possesses without question, I'm dredging the depths for a single compelling reason, just one reason, to remain anchored to her. And yet, when her gaze locks with mine, there is a palpable absence. No flare of passion ignites, no simmering desire, no hint of longing. Her eyes upon me do not ignite the kind of longing to fervently make love right there on the sophisticated linen of our table, to tear away at our clothes driven by unbridled longing and impatience. There was love for a while, then there was and there is convenience and cohabitation. And as these thoughts cross my mind and body, coursing slightly unease through my veins, I allow my gaze to drift, landing delicately upon the woman situated across the room. The woman whose piercing gaze have stripped me bare, seen me in full, looked at, understood and stirred depths within me, excited, and left me utterly captivated. With an effort that echoes the weight of my realizations, I manage to swallow, acknowledging the stark truth that no anchor retains its hold keeping me steadfast to my wife while Tina, it's palpably clear, has firmly lodged herself within me, has anchored herself to me, on that bed in a dimly lit cabin, securing us into each other's existence, anchoring us in a state that felt weighty and near immovable. As I register my wife's voice calling out, signaling to beckon the waiter who soon approaches us with the check, a sense of resolve washes over me. "I'll take this," I say, extending my hand to place the credit card upon the gleaming silver tray. "Thank you," she says in her usual tone "Shall we head out? I can take you back to the office," she offers as I stay seated, wrapped in a restlessness I wish I could shout into the void she seems unable to perceive. Not even today, a day that has veered so far from our usual. "You go. I'm walking back. I need to be in the office by 3pm. I got time." As my words linger between us, she casts a fleeting glance my way, and I'm certain she's caught a glimpse of the unusual turmoil within me, a tempest betrayed by my eyes. Yet once again, just as she has recognized it, she opts to disregard the silent plea for understanding. "Alright, just remember dinner tonight. Let's meet there directly; I won't have time to return home. I'll send a car for you at 7:30pm." An absent hum of acknowledgment escapes me; my distraction is so deep that I can't even recall which dinner engagement looms on the horizon. The only place I yearn to be tonight is in Tina's embrace. Then, my wife brushes my cheek with her lips. It's a quick, superficial gesture, born of routine rather than passion. The kiss lacks heat, longing--it is but her most affectionate formality, leaving me feeling more like an afterthought than the object of her desire. She moves away, and as she reaches for her purse, she whispers softly "See you later, Bette"- I watch as she gracefully slides into her coat with the waiter's assistance, my gaze tracing her path toward the exit. As she vanishes from my sight, I pivot towards Tina and I see her staring fixedly, motionless in the direction where she undoubtedly saw my wife leave. I hesitate, observing her from a distance. Her posture is one of unyielding strength and poise--shoulders back and taut. Her head is slightly tilted, as if listening intently to a distant sound. From this vantage point, I can glimpse her faraway look in her eyes, as if she's momentarily transported to another realm. I continue to study her, trying to understand what she's feeling. Then, as she turns a little more to the side, time itself seems to pause. Her sidelong glance searches for me--a silent beckon, a craving. A need. And that's all I need to rise from the table. With each uncertain step I take, tracing what I believe to be fewer than twenty paces, I come to a standstill behind her. I indulge myself, once again, in a fleeting moment of unreciprocated observation--I see her, while she remains unaware of my presence. Gently, I lay a hand upon her shoulder, feeling the tension rise and her muscles tighten under my palm. A wave of trembling fear engulfs me, pounding against my chest. Is this not what you were seeking? Am I causing you discomfort? T, it's only me, these thoughts circle my mind, yet I yearn to whisper them to her, softly, amidst a tender kiss. I believe she senses my intention, my silent message, as I feel her body begin to unwind and relax under my touch. So much, far too much fabric between us, Tina! With renewed assurance, my fingers wrap more firmly around her shoulder. I sense her yielding to the contact, her shoulders inching backward as if searching for a deeper press of my hand upon her. We're frozen in this interlude for a handful of heartbeats--a span of time that stretches into what feels like infinity for me. Briefly closing my eyes, I stand there behind her, drinking in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin reaching out to my waiting hand. Beyond my control, much like a reflex, my index finger lifts from her shoulder and edges closer to her face. My heart beats with an intensity that matches the slight tremor in my hand. With the lightest of touches, I brush a delicate spot on her neck, right by her ear, barely grazing her with the backside of my finger. It's a feathery, sensual caress, and for a split second, I'm convinced I feel Tina tremble in response. Tina tips her head ever so slightly, as if to accommodate my touch, shortening the space between us. I observe her breathing quicken, and memories of that breath upon my skin come flooding back. Her fragrance intoxicates me, filling my chest--but it's our taste, the essence of us enclosed within my cabin, that my mind fixates on. The taste of Tina that I've pined for during too many restless nights over the past years. As I'm brought back to reality, my gaze settles upon the little girl seated right in front of Tina, who regards me with inquisitive eyes. She can't be more than five, I reckon, as I observe her swaying on her chair. When our eyes meet, I offer her a smile. In her features, I see much of Tina, yet the child's eyes are darker, her skin a richer hue. Her curly hair is bound in a bountiful ponytail. I shift to the side, moving my hands from Tina to rest on the back of the vacant chair halfway between the two of them. "May I join you?" I inquire, my smile directed at the little one, who nods her assent with a broad, genuine smile that I return with a quick, conspiratorial wink as if we are sharing a secret bond in that singular moment. Tina turns to face me, and our eyes lock--for a second,and another one. And another one. Until we are both irretrievably aware of each other's complete presence and proximity. "Hey..." Tina's voice breaks, almost breathless, her lips quiver, and her eyes widen. God, how I've missed hearing your voice. The utterance of those three letters envelops me as though I've just heard the opening notes of a pristine melody that no one else has ever been privy to before. And there's a sort of innocence in her tone, in her gaze--an innocence that ignites a fire within me, a heat that nests itself in the pit of my stomach, an innocence I know doesn't exist with Tina in any other context. "Well, hello," I say and we find ourselves almost incapable of uttering anything else, of forming words that could possibly make sense of this shared moment. Our gaze lingers yet another second, and-- "Hi! My name is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>," the interruption redirects my attention away from Tina, compelling me to grasp the little hand outstretched toward me. I turn to the girl and shake her hand, feeling its firmness within mine, and gentle in the vigour of her youthful grasp. I can perceive Tina's observant gaze upon me, and a warmth suffuses my body. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Angie. I'm Bette." Without releasing my hand, the inquiring child asks, "Bette, who?" I swallow visibly, unsure of what emotions are now etched across my face as I'm swamped by a swell of feelings. I'm caught in the push and pull of hope and dread because, after two years, it's the innocence of a child that is capable of crumbling every wall, closing every fabricated gap between Tina and me. "Porter, Bette Porter," I reply and my eyes quickly seek out Tina's. I catch a flicker of an anxious smile which I mirror, just before she reaches out, resting her hand on my thigh hidden beneath the table, covert enough to remain unnoticed. I feel the flush on my cheeks intensify with the contact, and then Tina leans closer, "Nice to meet you, Bette Porter," she breathes, her whisper barely perceptible but warming my ear and then, as she moves just close enough, I sense the tip of her nose graze against my throat. "I'm Tina Kennard." How is it even possible that even just your name gives me butterflies? And just like that, within a mere minute, everything has transformed. Whilst Angie returns to play with a couple of figurines strewn across the table, Tina and I remain locked in a gaze. I place my hand over hers, still resting on my thigh, as though I intend to prohibit any withdrawal without my consent. We inch closer, our torsos leaning forward so that our hushed whispers can be heard exclusively by each other. "Is it really you?" I inquire, my voice laden with awe at the surreal feeling of her being so close to me once again. As I behold Tina, I find myself entirely unprepared for her beauty, for how irresistibly sexy she is, for how profoundly I have missed her. Tina nods, her silence speaking volumes while the lustre in her eyes conveys more than a thousand words could. I try to draw her closer still, wishing for her face to shield mine from the rest of the world. I let her brave the external stares, for I am not able to at this moment. My cheek softly brushes against hers as my lips tenderly caress and tickle her ear. "Oh Tina...I have so many questions, but far more than that, I'm consumed by so many needs," I whisper, and I can feel the shivers run through her body, see her flesh react with goosebumps, and hear the quickening of her breath. "Please...Ask me..." her voice is low and rough, laden with an edgy desire, "...for both." "Now?" I ask her in a hushed tone, though I'm aware of the forthcoming answer, an understanding that she soon confirms with a gentle shake of her head. With a discreet nod, Tina gestures towards little Angie, who remains seated before us, her presence an unspoken reminder of the delicate timing. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?" I venture, nuzzling softly into the cascade of her hair, breathing in the familiarity of her essence. "Yes, please," her response comes with a slight catch in her throat, betraying the swell of emotions hidden beneath her poised exterior. Straightening my posture, I draw back to take in her face, offering her a smile tinged with a blend of anticipation and warmth. My fingers reluctantly untangle from hers as she rummages through her bag, searching for her phone. There it is--she places it on the table with a sense of purpose. "Leave me your number," she murmurs, and my eyes linger on her while I enter each digit one by one--a simple process that we could have completed so easily in times gone by. How different things might have been I muse, before speaking up again, "Let's meet at Le CouCou, at 7:30". My acquaintance with the restaurant's chef ensures a table can be secured at short notice, a favor owed to the number of clients and collaborators I've brought there in the past. Moreover, that cozy corner of the city remains untouched by the high-flying circles of my wife's acquaintances. Rising from my seat, I pivot towards Angie. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Angie Kennard; I hope we see each other again soon," I tell her, flashing one more conspiratorial wink. Her laughter peals out in response as she tries to replicate my gesture. Then, I turn back to Tina. "So, I'll see you tonight," I state before she can get a word in, and I make my way toward the entrance. As the doors of the Plaza swing open, the crisp air rushes in, filling my lungs with renewed vigor. I take a deep breath, allowing the gentle snowfall, almost imperceptible upon touching the ground, to dust my coat. A smile spreads across my face as I wrap myself in my coat and head towards Fifth Avenue, my heart revived as if by a spark of life."

Now, with that style, rewrite this, make it better and longer if you think it's necessary " Now, we stand alone - an island amidst the churning sea of New York's rushing people - eye to eye on a cold sidewalk, of which, for me, we still occupy an inhumanly large space and I wish she could hear my thoughts I want you and I want you closer, Tina."

Write better and translate "Ma lo spazio che ci separa e quello che i nostri corpi occupano, mi sembra cosi inumanamente grande"

Write this better and in english "And my lips graze her knuckles with newfound and tenderest desire, my breath fans across her skin, and then, lowering our hands, we draw closer, melting into our first kiss illuminated by the sun's waning light. Al mondo aperto, non contenuto in qualche scatola del tempo. "

Write this better and in english "Tina's cheeks carry a soft flush, and the tip of her nose has gone pink from the chill. I smile, admiring how unabashedly her body betrays her emotions. I reach out wordlessly, brushing a wisp of her hair behind her ear, allowing my fingertips to fleetingly caress her dove-soft skin. Tina breathes out a sigh, a signal that there's no more time for silence, as her voice pierces the space between us "What do you want, Bette?" "I don't want to miss you, not even for a second," I answer, selfishly deciding not to give in at the first second with her. "No, Bette, what do you really want? What do you want from me? Because I told you, I can't..." Tina's voice trails, her words spilling out as if we are tuned to different frequencies for the first time. It's as though she's still tethered to a moment in the past, while I have already leapt forward. So I smile again, patient and waiting for her to catch up on me. "Tina," that's all it takes to halt her, mid-sentence, the thread of denial dissipating between us. **Leggo nei suoi occhi che ora Tina e con me "ciao" le sussurro, la voce calma, la stessa che si usa quando si saluta il proprio amato al risveglio.**"

With a writing style rich of emotional depth, introspectiveness, and vivid imagery, using lush language, layered descriptions, and internal monologue to convey the complexity of feelings and relationships between the characters, rewrite this better and make it longer: "First blink of an eye. Second blink. Then third, and my face is still cradled by the fresh breezes that wandered in from the gap Tina left when she opened the door, which closed at her graceful but rushed leaving. Eyes flutter shut once more--*Do you know, Tina, the infinitesimal events within a blink of an eye?* Within that scant 0.25 seconds' breath, creation unfurls--15,000 stars ignite into being, 15 million rogue planets form, and the universe stretches its canvas wider by hundreds of thousands of kilometers. *Powerful and incredible, isn't it, Tina?* By the time the fourth flutter of lashes shades my view, I find myself anchored, immovable, rooted at the core of a dancefloor we makeshifted from our own world. This worn, wooden planking beneath my feet--every groove and grain, has been a testament to our dance together *Was it just a dance, Tina?*. And though I stand here alone, I can feel that my roots have delved deep, deep into the essence of what you are; they intertwine inexorably with your veins, drawing sustenance from the very beat of your heart. *What might unfold, Tina, if I keep my eyes shut? Or what if I never let them close again?* Within two more flutters--a time scarcely reaching a second and a half since she's swept beyond that threshold I now contemplate with steadfast resolve. How many planets have we already allowed to form in this time? How many stars have been birthed? I think about how in mere moments, everything alters--like the seconds it took, years ago, to lift my gaze from a book I never finished, sealing within that splinter of time the ardent moment when I yearned for you, dreamt of you, began to love you, for the first time. Yet, here I'm and as the silence gets heavy between the gaps of my lashes, I am aware now of a profound emptiness. Your absence is palpable, I close my eyes--then a fifth flutter, my lashes brush against the cool veil of air--a tactile reminder of the space you occupied. Another second passes--*New stars, new worlds are born, Tina!--*and I need but one more second to grasp everything. It's just enough time for one last glimpse back, a swift journey through the choices I made for my wife and realizing that each and every decision has been truly best for me. Till now. Moment when I am called, or rather you called me, to really make the right decision for me. And now, my eyes remain open, now I grant no more time to embryonic stars or borning planets. Not another flutter. I surge towards my coat flung over the chair, my hands trembling as I rummage for the cash which I hastily leave to the barkeep. Slipping into the warmth of my coat, I run out. *Where are you, Tina?* My gaze darts in every direction, heart racing at the thought of letting her slip away, but I can't see her form amid the throng spilling onto the sidewalks. Darn the blinding sun. And then, the red of her dress under the black coat cuts through the sea of people; I see Tina, strides ahead of me, on the other side of the street, halting to usher open the door of a waiting taxi. "Tina!" I cry out, my voice piercing as I gauge the surging traffic, seeking the shortest path to her. Seizing the moment made by the snarl of congestion and the red glare of the traffic signal, I dash toward her, my mind casting itself back to the day we arrived in Paris, when I was the one vanished into the tinted anonymity of a waiting car. Sprinting, dodging between vehicles, until I reach her taxi, pulled loosely from the curb, yet not quite departing. Approaching it, I tap insistently on the window, breath racing, heart lodged firmly in my throat--It isn't the modest exertion of the dash I made, nor the flutter of hurried breaths, that quickens my heart. Rather, I know it is an involuntary response, a corporeal acknowledgment of Tina's inadvertent alchemy--her mere presence coaxes my pulse to a rhythm of longing and desire. Knocking again and again, right knuckles express my yearning while I struggle to regulate each shuddering breath. *How many stars are we willing into existence now, Tina?* I muse internally, drawing strength with every steadied inhalation. Then, as the window descends, her eyes find mine. And we look at each other without giving birth to anything else, without our eyes getting lost even for a moment. "Where are you going?" I ask her, my trepidation so palpable I can discern the sound of my swallow, even amidst the backdrop of city horns and bustle. Tina averts her gaze, but I can see the shimmer in her eyes now, sparkling not with shared laughter but with some spoken emotions. I watch as she swallows laboriously, visibly struggling to unlock the words choking her throat. Then, she lowers her gaze - just for a microcosm of time, yet long enough to kindle in me a myriad of fears. When she finally lifts her face to mine again, still framed by the window and separated from me by a cold expanse of steel, she utters in a threadbare voice, "Bette, I can't bear to hear you say you're choosing her. I understand you, I understand it all, but you can't ask me to..." but I don't allow her to finish the sentence. Without any grace or social niceties, I abruptly interrupt the flow of her words by flinging the car door open, leaving Tina to gaze after me, bewildered. Yet, in the space of a heartbeat, I see the shift in her gaze: her eyes soften, taking on a new tenderness, and I extend my hand towards her. This time, it's my invitation for her to take it. There's a moment of hesitation on Tina's part, but then I lean closer, echoing the gesture she made before we danced together. I extend my hand as far as possible towards her, and with a more determined voice, I whisper, "Grab my hand, Tina" and my words, scarcely more than a breath, hang in the air. She inclines her head, a tender smile gracing her lips, and as she reaches out and our hands connect, I delicately, yet firmly, encircle her fingers with mine, sending a shiver up my spine. I can feel her tentative strength, her hesitation melting away as our fingers intertwine, signaling a silent truce. I remember the first Tima extended her hand to me, an offer of connection I deliberately ignored to avoid succumbing to her allure. It feels like eons ago, not just in the realm of time passed, but also in the depth of emotions and experiences that have transpired since that moment between me and Tina. Yet here I stand, decisive and proactive, inviting the undeniable truth that even the simplest touch of her fingers has the power to overwhelm me. I take a small step back to afford her the space she might need, but it's not enough so that when we both finally stand outside of the taxi, the proximity is such that my lips inadvertently graze hers. A veil of un-experienced embarrassment briefly captures us in its awkward embrace, and I retreat another step, retreating into what feels like a universe of distance that's suddenly opened between us. "Ma'am, should I wait?" the driver's voice carries to us from within the vehicle, slicing through our silent exchange. I dip my head so that I can lock eyes with the man, offering him a smile while nodding in affirmation, "Please you can go, thank you." Closing the car door nudges Tina a few steps forward. Ah, another the paradox of our proximity; here we stand - a solitary isle rising defiantly from amidst the sea of hurried souls that is this City. Pavement sprawling beneath our feet, a cold, hard expanse that taunts with its vastness as we look at each other, while New York halts its breath for us, if just for a moment. The space that stretches between us, and the very one our bodies claim, feels so unendurably vast that I think you can't hear my thoughts this time *I want you and I want you closer, Tina.* Tina's cheeks carry a soft flush, and the tip of her nose has gone pink from the chill. I smile, admiring how unabashedly her body betrays her emotions. I reach out wordlessly, brushing a wisp of her hair behind her ear, allowing my fingertips to fleetingly caress her dove-soft skin. Tina breathes out a sigh, a signal that there's no more time for silence, as her voice pierces the space between us "What do you want, Bette?" "I don't want to miss you, not even for a second," I answer, selfishly deciding not to give in at the first second with her. "No, Bette, what do you really want? What do you want from me? Because I told you, I can't..." Tina's voice trails, her words spilling out as if we are tuned to different frequencies for the first time. It's as though she's still tethered to a moment in the past, while I have already leapt forward. So I smile again, patient and waiting for her to catch up on me. "Tina," I say, and that's all it takes to halt her, mid-sentence, the thread of denial dissipating between us. I read in her eyes that she's right here with me now, present in this very moment. "Hi" I whisper, my voice steady and soft, the kind of voice one uses to greet their beloved in the gentle intimacy of a shared sunrise. She looks at me, and I continue, "I chose you". I let the weight of my words travel toward her, sinking into her, setting firm roots before I venture further, "I chose you the night when I found solace in the cradle of your arms. I chose you, feeling as if I'd journeyed through a thousand years only to finally arrive home with you. I chose you years ago, Tina, and somewhere at the crossroads of then and now, my choice evolved from having chosen to choose again. Unequivocally." I hear my voice break a little and my eyes moisten. My throat closes and my mouth goes dry but Tina needs my words, all of them so I continue "Now, I choose you - not because you asked me to, but because now we're choosing each other". I pause briefly again, taking her hands into my own, letting our interlaced fingers tell their own silent tale. My gaze lingers on our hands before guiding them up to my lips, and as our eyes connect over the space that divides them, I softly kiss her fingertips as though they were the petals of some rare and fragile bloom. My eyes journey from her fingers to meet her lips, then rise again to lock with her mesmerizing hazel gaze. "I choose you, because I love you," I whisper against her knuckles. In the span of a heartbeat, the world feel both infinitely vast and as small as the space between us. Tina's expression morph from surprise to an ever-deepening well of emotion, the corners of her lips twitching into the joy. Her silence hang between us, not as an absence of response, but as a moment allowing my words to saturate our being. My lips tenderly brush against her knuckles in a caress laden with the softest and most earnest yearning, my breath whispering over her skin. Then, with our hands entwined, we yield to the magnetic pull between us, leaning in to savor the sweetness of our first kiss illuminated by the sun's waning light. We kiss slowly, gently, a moment not held boxed by the constraints of ticking clocks or the boundaries of eras, but free and expansive, belonging solely to the open world around us. *You are the love of firsts, Tina. Perhaps you are the first herself. Not the first to whom I say 'I love you,' not the first I kiss. However, you are the first to make me feel enough and to help me understand what 'I love you' truly means.* I find myself thinking, as our love becomes real, as it is seen, observed, perhaps criticized or envied by passersby, and we become a reality. As our mouths explore their sweet familiarity, our hands begin their own tentative dance, seeking the warmth of one another through layers of fabric until hers find reprieve in my hair and mine cup her face. I lose myself in Tina, with a depth that is like fever in my veins, a tumultuous cascade of passion. Her hands glide over me in a slow procession of discovery, making pretty clear the depth of desire and love she harbors for me. I feel Tina's chest against mine, the gentle cadence of her breaths, until she withdraws just enough to rest her forehead against mine. I open my eyes to take in the vision of her, her lips flushed and swollen from our kiss, and then we smile together, knowing without words. The shiver that courses through her is immediate under my touch, and it beckons an urgent reminder - Tina is clad only in her coat and a dress that, despite the teasing touch of the sun's rays, offers little solace against the touch of the chill. Fingers nimble with purpose, I swiftly unbutton my coat and I open it, enveloping her slender form within the embrace of its warmth and my own arms. As the fabric settles around her, I feel the subtle shift of her body as it begins to relent to the heat, her breath a warm whisper against the cool skin of my neck. From this closeness emerges our tender rebellion against the cold; our shared heat a cocoon within my coat. Rising on her tiptoes, Tina finds the shell of my ear hidden beneath a veil of my hair "I love you, Bette Porter" she breathes, her words a fervent melody that sends shivers through my frame, compelling me - no, demanding of me - to hold her even tighter, as though I could turn our bodies into one. Yielding to the intensity of the moment, I draw her lips back into a kiss that is at once ravenous and profound. My tongue wields a controlled yet aggressive assurance, and my lips maneuver against hers with a precision born of raw desire. Tina responds with a soft moan, a sound muffled to the bustling world around us but resonating like a clarion call to me. Amidst the city's din, that tender plea echoes just for us. I persist in the kiss, my lips yielding but resolute, sustaining a rhythm as steadfast as the pulse that now thrums between us. We stay suspended in this time for some more flutters of lashes."

Write this passage better, the reader must feel anticipation "Another second passes--*New stars, new worlds are born, Tina!* and I need but one more second to understand everything, to comprehend the entirety of this moment. It's just enough time for one last glimpse back, a swift journey through the choices I made for my wife and realizing that each and every decision has been truly best for me and for her. Till now. Moment when I am called, or rather Tina called me, to really make the right decision for me, beckoned not by duty or obligation."

with less figures of speech

with a descriptive style, less figure of speech, romance and sexual electricity, read this and rewrite it better and longer. "When the sun whispers of time spent, I raise my arm to halt a taxi. I let Tina climb in first, and as we settle into the comfort of the vehicle, the warmth envelops us in an almost tangible embrace. Tina flashes a courteous smile at the driver and gently voices our destination, "To the Plaza." Upon reaching the hotel, the doorman strides forth in his lacious attire and graciously opens the car door for Tina, helping her out. As I step out, I allow my eyes to close momentarily indulging in the fresh air that brushes my face like the fingertips of time itself. Upon reopening them, I find Tina, standing still with her hand outstretched towards me. Her warm eyes beckon, inviting me. We're meet with the hotel's courteous welcome--a mix of polite nods and a sprinkle of curious, mischievous glances from working onlookers--but none of that can steal my focus, cause I have no intention of letting another moment slip by without interlocking Tina's delicate hand in mine. The doors open with a gentle movement, resembling a tranquil wave. At the entrance, the warmth of the environment embraces us, while our hands, clasped together, caress each other. The pianist who, just a few days ago, led me to relive my entire story with Tina is still here, playing and perhaps gifting someone else a memory. As we walk slowly in front of him, his notes captivate us, and we come to a standstill. Together. Suddenly, Tina drew closer, and as I observe the pianist swiftly moving his fingers across the keys, she whispers, "Shall we dance again?" Turning towards her, I meet with the radiance of her smile and the subtle, affectionate crinkle of her eyes--eyes that sparkle with the vivacity of her joy. "I have many other talents, you know," I tease her with a playful wink "All to be discovered". We share a knowing, mischievous laugh before drifting away from the piano, its music now a distant background score unfolding as we headed towards the elevators--and to room 734. Moments pass by then the elevator doors glide open before us, revealing the high floor of the hotel. Tina's grasp on my hand is firm yet tender, her fingers anchoring our connection as she leads me through the corridor, no words shared yet volumes spoken in each step we take together towards her room. And while my mind wades through the future - pondering the call to Joyce, my lawyer, and the inevitable confrontation with my wife - I am subsumed in ruminations, barely noticing our arrival a