Intimacy

What is intimacy?

 

Is it the way you touch each other comfortably in places you don’t let anyone else touch? Or the way you whisper into each other’s ears like children keeping a secret? Or perhaps it’s the way you can just lay there, hand in hand, side by side, just talking about your secrets, your passions and your desires.

I long for all three. The kind of intimacy wherein I don’t even have to try to be someone different, no one changes for anyone (unless for the actual best) the kind wherein silence is accepted and isn’t deemed awkward at all, the kind wherein you don’t have to tell each other how you feel all the time because you just know;

you just know she’s feeling sad because of no reason at all or because the rain reminds her of a sad memory, you just know he’s disappointed because his favorite team lost the game or you forgot about your plans, you just know she’s mad because you did something stupid (even if you didn’t realize it then) or when he’s frustrated because he’s being silent, knowing that if he opened his mouth, he might say something to hurt you. You don’t have to keep asking questions (although neither of you are mind readers) you don’t have to react so quickly all the time. Point is: You don’t have to try so hard all the time. Things fall into place because they’re meant to, not because you mold them to be that way. You just know.

 

I guess we all have these different notions and expectations of what is. 

But there’s almost always bound to be common ground.

Something interesting and unpredictable can happen.

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