There are moments where time seems to stop… our skin seems more alive… our hearing more acute… even our sense of taste seems heightened. Such moments of intensity are often in the arms of another person. Or on a visit to an indescribably beautiful place, sometimes an ancient place where history was written…

Each one of us has felt the rush of adrenaline as we surrender, and are surrendered to. Such moments are something to hold sacred… and remember. Human contact is wild and untamed, despite our need for a constancy. Those moments may arrive spontaneously… a long discussion, encouraged by a fine Bordeaux… they may be calculated… once desire becomes electricity… we are bound together. Whether in the perfectly acceptable construct of marriage, or a consummation of buried desire, or a new love that is so perfect it seems an apparition… there is something about the intensity of surrender.

Sometimes the moments are held hostage in our memory… wishing we could speak of them openly… run away from the convention of everyday thinking. Stolen moments begin as a smile to oneself.. then a phone call timed for a solo ride in the car, or on a train. Then stolen time… in a quiet, smoky bar… or vacations that coincide far and away from the prying eyes and ears of the opposition… like twin stars, evolving around each other…. the heaviness of unrequited love, or lust as some may see it… deepens when trust outweighs all else…

Exchanging whispers and secrets and touches… moments that can neither be shared with, nor verified by another are sacred indeed… is such love reckless? In politics, of course. But only if someone tells The Washington Post.

— Media Lizzy