I don’t think intimacy begins when two bodies touch.
I think it begins the moment someone sees the darkness you hide so carefully… and stays anyway.
Not because you wanted my body, but because you learned my mind. My habits. My silence. The exact tone in my voice when I was pretending I was okay.
You saw me beyond soft skin and pretty eyes. You saw the ruined thoughts, the jealousy, the overthinking, the nights I fell apart in silence. You watched me unravel slowly, layer by layer, until there was nothing left to hide behind.
And somehow, you looked my brokenness
made you want me moreee!!
That’s what made me feel naked.
Not your hands on my body, but your soul touching the parts of me I was terrified to reveal. The scars I dressed up as strength. The ache beneath my attitude. The loneliness beneath my smile.
Not clothes falling to the floor, but walls collapsing between two souls.
Not lust, but the terrifying comfort of being fully seen.
You kissed every insecurity with patience. Held every ugly truth with gentle hands. And in the middle of all my chaos, you loved me so deeply that even my wounds began to feel beautiful.
That kind of love is dangerous.
And God… there’s something dangerously addictive about being loved by someone who has seen the worst parts of you and still kisses you like you’re sacred ♥
You didn’t just undress my body.
You undressed my soul.
You undressed my soul.