Intimacy

This poem is about being hyper-aware of intimacy and having a hard time maneuvering through the mundane depths of both platonic and romantic relationships. I encourage everyone to practice being vulnerable and embrace intimacy. It's tough, rewarding, bold, fulfilling.

In the second part of this post, my friend wrote their take on intimacy. They used a specific moment to showcase intimacy. Thanks for making this with me, friend. 

October 22nd 2024 

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It's intimate, the way we laugh like no one is around, our laughter turns into echoes in my mind when I try to fall asleep. 

The tiredness in your eyes, the things we say at night. I am so afraid. 

It's intimate, all my good and bad days, I share with you. I wish you’d only experience me on my good days.

It's intimate when I state “I’m done.” 

It's intimate when you say “I understand.” 

You know about the leather journal I keep in my bag, that's intimate. 

You know about my daily whereabouts and my favorite restaurant, that's intimate. My birthday is on your calendar and your favorite movies are written in my notes.

You know I hate to stay too long, it can get too intimate. Sitting in silence, it's intimate. Feels like something is crawling inside of me. A flashlight has been shined and it's revealing all the veins and cells my skeleton bears.

I know you can't put that blunt down, that's intimate.

I know you're afraid of what's gnawing at you, I know you've never looked in the mirror once, that's intimate. 

I've memorized the octaves in your sleep and I know which song you have on repeat. That's intimate. 

You're my favorite person to talk to, I say. You're mine, you respond. 

That was intimate. 

I told you about my fuck-ups, told you about my favorite day. Translucent, I'm naked. I realized I told you everything, barf.

Intimacy takes strength; I thought it was easier to fade away. 

I thought it was easier to say nothing, reveal nothing, show nothing, and be perfect forever, but god it's so bleak.

I think this feels good. I thought I'd scare you away the first time you saw me get angry. You reminded me it was okay to speak up.

I can't be chill forever ya know. 

It's intimate to be yourself. Although I’m hyper-aware of it, I'm slowly shedding skin, letting it go.

---

On Intimacy:

When I think of intimacy, I think of my best friend. 

After nine hours of switchbacks and sticky, thick air. Sweaty and sore and fucking tired. Blowing up air mattresses for the night, I heard, “Oh fuck,” from beside me.

His nose had started bleeding, all over his mattress.

When the bleeding finally stopped, I looked him in the eye and laughed. He looked so funny, blood all over his mouth, like a macabre goatee. He laughed at my laughing, and at the situation, and at how fucking tired and sore we were.

To me, intimacy is the moment that I looked him in the eye and laughed. Skin-on-skin is intimate, yes. Crying together is intimate, yes. But so is looking a person in the eye and sensing a mutual, What the fuck?

The unsaid, that’s intimate.