Romantically, it is when we lie in a pool of passion where dreams flood our souls and engulf our hearts. It is the ****** of all infatuations when lust changes into love.
In reality, it is much simpler.
It is when we reveal the rips on our jeans, the crumbs on our floor, that weird freckle on our backs, the shirts we have stolen, the keys we have lost, the dust on our shelves, the journals we wrote, the letters we never sent, the stories from our past, and the lives we thought we deserved.
Intimacy is the privilege to witness someone in their most vulnerable state, to accept all their blemishes, and somehow remain in utter bliss.
That my friend is intimacy.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Romantically, it is when we lie in a pool of passion where dreams flood our souls and engulf our hearts. It is the ****** of all infatuations when lust changes into love.
In reality, it is much simpler.
It is when we reveal the rips on our jeans, the crumbs on our floor, that weird freckle on our backs, the shirts we have stolen, the keys we have lost, the dust on our shelves, the journals we wrote, the letters we never sent, the stories from our past, and the lives we thought we deserved.
Intimacy is the privilege to witness someone in their most vulnerable state, to accept all their blemishes, and somehow remain in utter bliss.
That my friend is intimacy.
