The port in Yafo

My crime committed was of the emotional sort. After a back and forth affair, a desire for a man that could not be captured. The day after my birthday – at the port in Yafo. A fish dinner and a beer each – we walked back along the boardwalk to Tel Aviv overlooking the water. However futile I know that this love is, it is inescapable and the crime was against myself – my heart. Letting the cold air of the winter months hit our bodies, we grasped each other tightly, clasping our hands and embracing each other. He pulled me in under the stars with the mosque of Yafo in the background. We sat, above the sea, my feet over his lap. Kissing, caressing. The waves crashing serenely below us. This moment captures Tel Aviv for me. Hope, lust, sensuality, excitement in something foreign yet completely comfortable. A city which leads my emotions to take hold over the rationalization of my mind. Experiences like no other, whether permanent or fleeting.

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