#intimatewriting
I carried the evening lightly,
as though it might slip through my hands,
the way your voice once did
when you paused mid‑sentence,
letting the unfinished thought
settle between us
like dust in a quiet room.
Even now,
the pause you left behind
returns without warning –
finding its place
in the rooms I still haven’t filled.
Some memories don’t speak;
they hover,
waiting for the right silence
to become visible.
And sometimes,
I think the part you never said
is the one that stayed with me –
a small, persistent light
that flickers
at the edge of every quiet evening.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 4:05 PM UTC
Life isn’t really worthless—
unless I’m trying to love less
than the rhythm in my chest
whispers when you’re close enough to feel it.
There’s creation in your touch,
every brushstroke of skin an art piece—
unless the soul beneath my hands
starts fearing it was birthless
before you breathed warmth into it.
You move through my silence
like a verse I’d rehearsed with—
turning quiet breaths into music,
turning longing into purpose.
Because love isn’t something we search for—
it’s something our bodies remember
when they finally meet the right pulse.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 2:59 PM UTC
Extra body language—
just for us
to read the room
before the room
reads us.
First kisses
always taste like strangers—
sweet,
but searching...
Elaborate that spirit I adore,
the way it moves freely
each time my hands
translate your skin.
You're a free spirit—
wild in the wind,
yet kneeling in humbleness.
To make you whole,
to keep you whole—
it feels selfish to promise
I’ll love you wholeheartedly
when I’m still mapping
the hidden rooms of my own heart.
Still—
I see you whole.
Divine sight,
as if God blinked
and left His light in your eyes.
Pleasure, patient.
Affirmation, never late.
And when my lips meet yours—
it’s honey spilling slow.
Be sweet as my honey,
and I’ll work your spirit
like a blue-collar honeybee—
faithful to the bloom,
devoted to the nectar.
stirring softness
from sweetness.
I am your honeybee.
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 2:53 PM UTC
My breath belongs in my lungs, but my chest found a home inside
your heart— then I cut pieces off myself just to hold a piece of you.
Every embrace feels like a crowded room: your tight mannerisms
wrapped around that pretty smile, your colours shifting between
words; shapes changing into the version longing keeps sculpting.
Maybe I’m the well dug too deep— a spiritual mirror of the man I
keep trying to be, the one who could lie beside you in peace, long
enough to remember what softness feels like. Your lips meet mine
so gently that the moment breathes through both our pores; your
presence pulls and pushes at once—push me away, and somehow
your pull grows stronger.
I fall back into that familiar gravity. You speak, and I listen through
the seven levels of understanding; I try to translate us through the
five love languages, into the three words you hesitate to confess,
toward the one truth we both circle around.
And all along, it only takes two— _You and I_, to subtract the whole
count down to its core: I guess love is always the equation reduced
to the simplest form.
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 8:56 AM UTC