Words
Do you even know what you’re looking for anymore? Are you even trying?
It’s been two months since I last shaved—two months since I cared what the man in the mirror looked like. Maybe I’m tired of judgment rooted in shallow things. Maybe I’m tired of being seen only on the surface. I want you to look deeper—into the lines on my face, into the stories in my eyes.
That’s why I wait, patiently, for people to walk away. I want to feel what’s real. I want to understand how love holds on when storms rage around us: the low-hanging gray clouds, the relentless rain, the thunder that seems to roll on forever. Tell me what’s real. Whisper the words you weave around my sleeping body. Lean in close—your breath warm against my ear—and let silence carry us deeper than any sermon.
In this quiet space, there’s no need to jump to conclusions. Time itself vibrates between us, revealing moments of healing. Only in silence can we learn the words that truly matter.
I remember running away as a kid, terrified to let love in. We never learn that lesson at school: that love can be gentle, that it can stay. Even now, it’s hard to let people in. I’m still learning. Even as you watch me sleep—so peaceful—I feel you beside me. My arms curve around your waist like two puzzle pieces finally snapped together. No words are needed—just the steady thrum of our hearts. Two people, six sheets of warmth, breathing the same night air.
When you breathe into my neck, I wonder if you dream of me, too. When I pull you tighter, do you feel how badly I need you? I’m glad I no longer swipe aimlessly through screens, chasing fool’s gold in double taps and illusions. Maybe that’s why I squeeze you so tight—wondering if any of this is real.
Tell me not to doubt what we have: this blazing fire under a mountain sky full of stars. Love reveals itself when city lights dim and fog drifts away. Away from noise and bustle, I always find you—and I wonder if you found me the same way: away from pain, away from lies, in the hush of night.
No words are needed here, only the river’s song as it rushes over cold stones—its voice humming a lullaby to hearts that truly listen. Only the wind’s soft fingers tiptoeing above the water teach me how to touch you, if I just close my eyes and listen.
Life is simple in the mountains. No eyes to judge you, no tongues to condemn me. Only cold air that draws two bodies close, sharing warmth without shame. I don’t want any moment but this one. I leave my eyes closed: your scent, that’s all I need. It gives me strength to release my worries, if only for a moment, to imagine a future for us—for me. Show me what I’m looking for.
How many days have I worn shades to hide tears? Who am I trying to fool? The world doesn’t need to see them—why would they judge when they’d never walk my road? It’s easy to speak from a hidden life, to curate an image they’d applaud. But I know deep down I don’t agree with that lie. I know our lost dreams feed on their doubts.
Are you even trying? That’s the question I ask myself as my own excuses feed my fears. I’m not perfect, nor will I ever pretend to be. Maybe that’s why I speak without regret—why I confess my fears into your ears: how you hold my love like a fragile bird in your hands, how you never have to pretend, because everything you are is everything my spirit needs.
Like the hush settling on a mountain fire, like the crackle of cherry wood in a dark cabin, your presence is home. There’s no place I’d rather be. This is what my soul has hunted for: peace beside you, flames dancing under a star‑strewn sky. Let them have the city, the glaring screens, the endless traffic. I’ll take the mountains, the firelight, your breath on my skin.
That is what I’m looking for.
Peace for my soul.
As we take in the light from the moon, while touching your hands,
No words are needed here.