I don't remember when I first noticed the way you breathe when you're almost asleep.
It’s softer than your waking breath — a slow, warm tide that pulls in just beneath my ear. Your chest rises against my back, and I can feel the exact second your arm tightens around my waist, even though I know you're not conscious enough to mean it. intimatepov
That's what intimacy is, isn't it? Not the loud moments. Not the declarations. It's the way your thumb traces the same small circle on my hip when you're lost in a book. It's the half-smile you give me from across a crowded kitchen, like we're sharing a secret no one else could hear. I don't remember when I first noticed the
The Space Between Heartbeats
I wonder if you know how often I watch you like this. How I memorize the weight of your hand on my stomach, the way your leg hooks around mine without thinking. That's what intimacy is, isn't it
But then your eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. And you whisper, "Can't sleep either?"
Some people search their whole lives for a moment this quiet. And here I am — tangled in sheets and you — afraid to move, because moving might break the spell.