I recently met a woman who captivates my curiosity in ways which are both subtle and sincere. She possesses an enchanting smile, one that invites contemplation, and her intellect is a reservoir of knowledge.

Our time together began in simplicity, which brought with it the slow transition from casual exchanges to more intimate encounters and a beautiful friendship rooted in vulnerability and openness. It was just the two of us, seated beside one another at her wooden dining table; an otherwise unremarkable place transformed into the locus of a quiet, passionate moment. There, amidst the remnants of earlier conversations and the subtle hush of the night, we began to truly reveal ourselves, not merely through the words exchanged but through the silences that punctuated them. Our questions, though innocuous at first, grew longer in their responses, drawing us closer, as though the very chairs we occupied were conspiring to bring our bodies nearer. And in time, they did. The space between us vanished, until we found ourselves no longer seated apart but sharing an almost singular presence.

In that instant, as if time itself paused in reverence, our lips met. The kiss was neither hurried nor fleeting, but rather the kind that stretches across the span of hours. Our hands explored, tracing paths not unlike the threads of our earlier conversations; each touch unveiling a new dimension of understanding, as if we were learning each other in a language foreign yet familiar. It was as if our bodies communicated where words could not, translating the intrigue of thought into something palpable and electric.

–

As we sit under the autumn sun,
Our knees brush the earth,
Your eyes trace soft paths between us.

Our children play in the distance;
Their laughter singing a song we both know well.

Between bites of a shared sandwich,
We exchange stories,
Untangling the past and present,
Until we begin to speak of dreams
We had both long forgotten.

In the stillness between breaths,
My hand finds your leg,
And before our children return;
You steal a kiss, quick as a secret.
I smile, and steal it back.

When our children return to the picnic,
Their hands full of discoveries,
We sit, caught in the moment’s pause;
No longer stealing kisses,
But sharing them softly,
As if they belong only to us.

— Sincerely, Boris

I miss the simplicity of slow dancing, swaying with someone under dim lights or even no lights at all, just the music of the moment guiding us. I long for the quiet exchange of handwritten notes, folded corners, and scrawled words that felt more intimate than texting ever could. There’s something irreplaceable about holding hands, feeling the pulse of another life interwoven with your own, a silent affirmation of connection.

I miss the affection; the casual, unspoken touches that say everything. The surprise of it all: an unexpected romantic gesture that brightened the day for no other reason than love. There’s an almost sacred joy in taking care of someone when they’re ill and not feeling themselves, the chance to nurture and be there in their vulnerability.

Cooking meals together, spending holidays together, planning a trip that revolves only around us, reading chapters to one another, carrying your things, buying flowers just because; these small rituals hold so much love in their simple execution. I miss sharing a stunning view with someone who feels the same way about the world, the silent communion that comes from recognizing beauty together.

Every love language matters in romance: the touch of a hand, the words that lift each other up, the thoughtful gifts, the unexpected surprises, the moments of service where we care without being asked, and the time spent simply being. They are all pieces of the puzzle that make romance whole, that make it feel alive and present in every interaction.

—

I miss the fold of your notes,
handwritten, curved,
as if the words themselves
were meant only for us to read.

I miss the simple joy of your hand in mine,
our fingers woven tightly,
a quiet language spoken
through skin and pulse.

I miss the sudden warmth of affection,
unprompted touches that bloom
unexpected, like the harvest in your garden.

The element of surprise,
the way love shows up
in places we never thought to look.

I miss the kitchen conversations,
meals made with laughter
and slow dancing over a simmering ***.

And buying flowers, just because
a day felt brighter with them in your hands.
I miss the view from that hilltop,
how we laid there, silently drinking in the world’s beauty
and found it mirrored in each other’s eyes.

I miss the romance,
the essence of what made us whole,
the moments we froze in time,
just long enough to call them ours.

— Sincerely, Boris

In the pursuit of lasting, secure relationships, I find myself reflecting on how anxiety has left its subtle, often unspoken imprints across my life. Growing up with a distant relationship with my parents, I internalized early on a sense of unfulfilled attachment, the absence of closeness planting seeds of doubt and a yearning for validation. In the silence of those unmet needs, I began searching for the assurances I never received, hoping that connection could anchor me to something steady.

This desire for security led me into a marriage that, for fourteen years, became a mirror of my deepest fears rather than a refuge. Each day felt like an exercise in survival; measuring my worth against another’s indifference, trying to reconcile my self-worth and patience with a relationship that drained rather than sustained. My anxieties flourished in that space; I was reaching for connection but grasping at emptiness. The experience taught me how profoundly loneliness can exist within a partnership and how silence can erode one’s sense of self over time.

Today, as a single father to my daughter, I am determined to write a different story, to create a life for her filled with the presence and closeness I once craved. I want to show her that love can be secure and kind, that her worth is intrinsic and unshakeable. I am learning, slowly, to offer myself the same assurance I give to her; a steady reminder that my value is not dependent on another’s approval or affection.

In this journey, I am coming to see that true security begins with me, with the quiet work of nurturing my resilience. Rather than allowing my fears to dictate my relationships, I am choosing to embrace them as part of my story, without letting them define its future. Each relationship now becomes an invitation to bring forward a more authentic, calm self. Through this process, I am becoming not only a more present father but a person capable of opening up without seeking guarantees. And in that vulnerability, I find a strength I never knew was mine.

—
​​In quiet moments, I can feel her near,
A light within the dark that holds me up,
Her laughter rising like the dawn’s first breath,
A fragile warmth that steadies broken ground.
Through storms endured, I draw upon her spark,
Her gentle hand pressed firm against my own,
The innocence she guards with steady grace,
Ignites a will to face the world once more.

I walk a road unkind and fierce at times,
Yet find my steps grow firm, my heart unbound,
For in her eyes I see a thousand suns;
Their heat is enough to melt the hardest of fears.

If ever strength were born from flesh and bone,
Then mine arose when she took in her breath;
My will to fight, to stand when all seems lost,
Lies nestled safe within her boundless trust.

— Sincerely, Boris

How confusing it is, this thing that creeps inside me.  
I saw the starry sky that night, and I couldn’t help but notice the brightest one,  
shining down like a flashlight aimed straight at my confusion.  
That star—like her, I thought—  
gave light to the darkness, as though it had to announce itself.  
Suddenly, color seemed to seep into my dull little world,  
the past expressions I had stored away like old letters in a drawer  
all started to resurface,  
as though some invisible chain had just snapped inside me,  
and, of all things, joy—  
the joy I had carefully avoided—  
appeared like an uninvited guest at my door.  
But what is this, this feeling that goes beyond all of that?

Her smile, wide enough to make the sun feel insecure,  
and those eyes that twinkle like she’s hiding secrets  
send my heart stumbling like a drunk guy at a wedding.  
Her silly jokes? They’re like little pebbles that hit my chest and make me laugh,  
the kind of laughter that gets stuck in your throat,  
the kind you can’t hold back.  
And those stories of hers, sometimes dull as dishwater,  
I don’t even care—they’re her stories,  
and I’d listen to them forever,  
just to hear that voice.  
It’s like a magnet, I think, pulling me closer,  
and somehow, I’m okay with it.  
Am I crazy?

I used to be someone who didn’t want any of this.  
I was content—no, I was proud—  
sitting in the shade of my own company,  
a cup of coffee for a friend, a book for a companion.  
I didn’t care for the dates on the calendar,  
or the ones who tried to give me a reason to care.  
But now I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t name,  
ready to fall into a ditch I can’t resist.  
This feeling—  
what on earth is it?  
Is it love?  
If so, well, I suppose  
it’s time I stopped pretending I don’t feel it.

There was a time when I believed that intimacy was something instinctual, a force that either existed between two people or didn’t. But over time, I came to understand that intimacy is not simply a given; it is something that must be nurtured through honest and vulnerable conversations, each revealing the heart of what we need, fear, and desire.

I learned that the foundation of connection lies in acknowledging my deepest longings; those desires that go beyond physicality. It required me to unravel the layers of what I want, to express the complexities of attraction, and to embrace the discomfort of speaking my truth. Only by facing these unspoken needs could I truly invite another into the depth of my intimacy.

I also had to confront the tension between pleasure and discomfort. There’s an art in balancing these two forces, in recognizing that not every touch, every moment, will be perfect. It became clear to me that boundaries are essential, that knowing when to say ‘yes’ and when to say ‘no’ is as much a part of intimacy as the act of coming together. The body speaks in these moments, revealing both joy and hesitation, and I had to learn to listen.

Trust, I realized, is the heartbeat of connection. It is not enough to want intimacy; it must be built on a foundation where vulnerability can flourish. This is a trust that goes beyond words; it requires action, consistency, and the courage to be fully seen. In moments of doubt, I had to open myself further, revealing my flaws and insecurities, knowing that trust isn’t something to be passively given, but actively cultivated.

And then there’s the rhythm of how we communicate; the delicate balance of speaking and listening. I found that the most profound conversations are often those that leave space for silence, for reflection. Patience became my ally, as I learned that empathy in communication creates a shared experience, one that allows both of us to feel understood without the need for constant resolution.

But perhaps the most transformative realization was understanding that intimacy is not static. It evolves, just as we do. My body, my desires, and the way I seek connection have changed over time, and I’ve come to accept this as part of the journey. Rather than clinging to past versions of ourselves, I found a certain grace in adapting, in continually exploring new ways to nurture both trust and pleasure.

In the end, these realizations became more than lessons. They became a practice; an ongoing commitment to creating space for intimacy that is as rich emotionally as it is physically. It’s a space where love deepens, where empathy and passion intertwine, and where both partners are given the freedom to grow alongside each other.

—

It’s in the breath between words,
A place where we meet,
Beyond the edge of touch,
Where skin is not a barrier, but a bridge.

It’s in the slow unraveling of the heart,
Our truest selves,
Waiting to be seen,
waiting to be held.

Intimacy is the courage to stay,
Where bodies bend,
Not just for the warmth of another,
But for the release of what we carry alone.

The eyes that undress what words cannot,
The trust that grows
Not from promises spoken,
But from the weight of presence of being whole.

Where love is not just felt,
But understood
In the way we share our breath,
Our silence,
Our fears,
And our fire.

— Sincerely, Boris

perhaps the most appealing part of you
is that we could never be together
never in the same room
under the pretenses between these sheets
laugh lines forming a parenthesis
becoming an unfinished sentence
embedded in your thread count

you always liked me better
when you couldn't see my face
roleplay began taking the shape
of a placeholder instead
missing what we couldn't have
taking what we could get
greedy and all-consuming lust

i wonder who else might feel the same way
when affection grows into resentment
repulsive to the tongue
forbidden love becomes bitter
when it is left to breathe over time

I've been watching patterns in nature lately,
savoring their beauty.
We are born,
unfolding into the natural grid,
painting the world's infinite canvas.

I finally see that we are one and the same in this cycle,
interconnected.
So different,
yet so familiar.

The trees structured like our lungs,
our veins like the vast rivers.
Our hearts pulse,
and so do the shore waves.
I look into the stars swimming in the antimatter,
and they look back at me.
Among them I see your eyes,
like two suns,
radiating warmth onto my soul,
reaching evey corner of my being.

I will never forget the time we had,
how it colored my world's canvas.

I dig you and all the oddities that you are.
Just need you, in my head, in my heart, twisting me up and dancing with my soul.
Wish I could kiss you to death, revive you with electric love and lick your soul in its private parts.
If your lips are the last thing I taste every night, l'd never need dessert.

Nine lines aren't enough for me to confess the love I have for you.
It cannot begin to explain your ineffable beauty,
Or the Darcey rose color you bring to my cheeks.
It can't describe the bright light in your eyes and the sparkles it brings to mine,
Nor the way you make my heart race.

But for now, love,
Let nine lines be enough to give an idea of the affection I hold for you in my heart.