Ivan / Maia

i wrote about intimacy before. something that i used to confuse with love and uncertainty both formed into something that now exists in the past; now it's something burned in the back of my brain, a moment turned into something like phosphenes—splashes of ink fading away into the dark, images formed from heat, from warmth.

i used to think intimacy meant moments despite not knowing too little about someone's warmth,

and i used to think that intimacy meant knowing the sound of your breaths even when i had my eyes closed, years of reading taught me to yearn for that kind of intimacy.

today i wanted to revisit what i thought intimacy meant for me.

and i'd end up replaying that one afternoon from months ago.

of me dozing off in your bed in nothing but my underwear while you were doing homework across from me. i'd wake up to the feel of your arms snaking around my waist and i'd look over to see your shirt gone and strewn across the floor. i'd mumble the words good morning and you'd laugh quietly and nibble my ear.

i'd move closer into your chest until there's just skin between us. i'd ask what's the occassion.

you'd plant kisses all over my shoulder and run your fingers through my hair. the dim light in your room was warm. i could hear birds chirping outside your window.

you'd answer, in the sweetest voice i know,

"it's just... intimate. and i like it. don't you?"

oh, my love,

it's a day before the two-year mark of our first kiss.

we're on discord for three hours now, i'm on notion reorganizing my stuff and freaking out over my looming internship hours, you're on your phone looking at stock markets. you're singing "Please, Please, Please" by Sabrina Carpenter in a falsetto and i can't help but smile—i've been smiling for a whole minute now—to the way you called me the love of your life.

my cheeks hurt.

you'd have said that for the third time today.

and for the millionth time in almost two years.

and yet my cheeks still find a way to hurt from all the smiling.