watch a new tv show together kind of intimacy. fall asleep with my head on her shoulder kind of intimacy. laugh too loudly together, share ice-cream from the carton, sing along to the radio and dance badly in the kitchen. pulling silly faces when she’s on the phone with her parents just to make her laugh. the kind of intimacy that’s gentle. warm. sharing makeup kind of intimacy. i’m leaving the house and i grab the nearest coat, and it’s hers. that kind of intimacy. i can talk about my hyperfixations to her and she’ll listen. and she can talk to me about hers, and i’ll listen, too. even when we can’t relate. we brave the unknown for each other. she makes me hot cocoa. some nights when i can’t sleep, i still share the bed with her kind of intimacy. cradle her in my arms kind of intimacy. if i sleep, wake up curled around her kind of intimacy. it’s easy, being a woman in love, i’d imagine. it’s all the little things. all the times we hold hands. reach out for each other. buy groceries together. play video games together. and she’ll wing my eyeliner, if i ask her to. and she’ll kiss my cheek if i ask her to. and she’ll tell me about her favourite movie if i ask her to. and we won’t need to say that we love each other with words. that’s our intimacy, that’s our secret. we’ll show each other. again and again and again and again. every morning. every afternoon. every night.
—- ♡ —– ♡ —- ♡ ——♡ —–
blackbirds in my lungs. 