In Loving Memory of Desire
Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, we gather here today to honour the memory of a once-vibrant flame that flickered within the walls of Mitchell and Samantha Felding’s marriage.
A flame that warmed their hearts ignited their passion and danced with fervour in the early days of their union. Today, we bid farewell to the intimacy that once defined their love-a love that now rests in the quiet chambers of memory.
Mitchell and Samantha embarked on this journey a decade ago, their hearts intertwined like ivy on an ancient oak. Their vows echoed promises of forever, whispered secrets shared only between two souls. In those early years, their intimacy was a symphony-a crescendo of skin against skin, laughter, and whispered confessions beneath moonlit sheets.
But time, that relentless companion, wove its threads into their story. The mundane routines of life, the pressures of work, and the weight of responsibilities cast shadows upon their once-passionate nights. The flame dimmed, flickering hesitantly as if unsure of its purpose. Conversations shifted from whispered desires to grocery lists and mortgage payments. Once a sanctuary of longing, the bedroom became a silent witness to their fading connection.
And so, we gather here today not to mourn the loss of a physical act but to celebrate what once was-a love that transcended mere bodies. For intimacy, you see, is more than flesh-it is the meeting of minds, the intertwining of dreams, and the vulnerability of shared secrets. The warmth of a touch lingers long after the caress ends, the laughter that echoes through empty rooms, and the silent understanding that needs no words.
Mitchell and Samantha, in this eulogy, we remember the stolen kisses in the kitchen, the late-night conversations that stretched into dawn, and the way your eyes held galaxies of longing. We honour how you navigated storms together-the losses, the victories, and the quiet moments when love was enough.
Yet, as we stand here, we acknowledge that intimacy, like a fragile flower, requires tending. It thrives on attention, spontaneity, and vulnerability. Perhaps life’s demands overshadowed your garden of passion, and the weeds of routine choked its blossoms. But let us not forget the beauty that once bloomed-a beauty that still resides in the shared glances across the breakfast table, the laughter during Netflix binges, and the way your hands find each other even in sleep.
So, as we lower the casket of intimacy into the soil of memory, let us also plant seeds of hope. Let us water them with intention, nurture them with patience, and allow them to grow anew. For love, my dear friends, is not static-it evolves, adapts, and finds new ways to express itself.
Mitchell, Samantha, may you find solace in the memories you’ve woven together-the laughter, the tears, and the quiet moments when your souls danced. May you rediscover intimacy, not as a relic of the past but as a promise for the future-a flame waiting to be rekindled.
Rest in peace, dear intimacy. Your legacy lives on in the hearts of those who witnessed your glow.
Originally published at https://michaelformanevil.substack.com.