One cannot truly share intimacy with another without first becoming intimate with oneself. Many argue that love exists even in the absence of self-love.
To them, I say this: I once believed the same, but time, experience, and reflection have reshaped my understanding.
To love others while enduring suffering at your own hands is not an absence of love—it is the weight of guilt, grief, misconceptions, and sorrow. It is the layers of denial and pain that obscure the truth.
But beneath it all, in the untouched essence of your being, there is something undeniable.
As a newborn, you did not hesitate. You inhaled, you called for nourishment, you recognized the scent of your mother, the touch of warmth or coldness, the presence of safety or the lack thereof. You were not taught love—you simply *were* love.
Love, in its purest form, is unfiltered experience. It is awe at the color of the sky, the melody of sound not merely heard but *felt*, the spontaneous dance of a body responding to rhythm without inhibition.
It is the untamed wonder of simply existing. But then, the mind became conditioned, habits formed, and the sacred was forgotten.
Let us return. Let us be intimate again—not as a means to an end, not to conquer or possess, but simply to *be*.
Let fingertips meet fingertips. Feel the texture, the ridges, the tiny cracks of skin. Let lips press to skin—not in haste, but with reverence. Let breath be drawn in deeply, inhaling the unspoken story held within another’s scent.
Let us see each other anew, as if for the first time. As if human existence itself is a miracle unfolding before our eyes. Trace the spine, honor the curves, the hollows, the strength, the softness.
Let the tongue—this muscle of sensation and articulation—explore the shape of lips, not with hunger but with curiosity. Let us touch without the weight of expectation. No games. No score to settle. No conquest.
Just the purity of presence. Let us laugh at the absurdity of toes tangling, finding joy in their size, their space, their warmth. Let us look into the eyes of another and, without judgment, acknowledge: *you too are Life itself*.
Two beings, each a reflection of the other, moving in harmony, breathing in synchronicity, existing in the sheer divinity of presence.
May our hearts align, our breath deepen, our sighs release.
May we share a moment so sacred, so true, that a gravitational pull forms—not of need, but of recognition.
May we see the Divine in another—not as an abstract ideal, but as a mirror of the Divine within ourselves.
For we only recognize what already exists within us. And that recognition—*that*—is intimacy.
So let us be still, and let us dance within that stillness.
jacobvanloon
dededos
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
