to know someone intimately

warts and all

to know someone intimately means they feel safe enough to breathe around you, to stop pretending to be okay or someone they're not. it’s when someone says to you “i've never told anyone this before,” hoping you'll understand and knowing you'll accept them despite. it means remembering the little, seemingly insignificant details they've shared about their life.

it's when someone opens up without shielding themself with an armour of laughter or shrugging it off as nothing. it's them standing still and letting you trace your fingers over their scars, memorising every inch. you reassure them you don't think they're broken.

intimacy is when you tell someone what they mean to you when they're unable to love themself. you say, “no, you are not difficult to love. you are kind, and you are stronger than you think. you are loved. by me, but also by many others.”

intimacy is listening when someone needs to unburden themselves. it's giving them not only an ear, or a shoulder to cry on, but the arms.¹ intimacy is the good kind of hug. not the light, fleeting kind, as if both parties are ashamed of themselves, and not the brushing pats on the back that are administered by someone too embarrassed to commit and hold you tight. but good long hugs, where you feel like you're trying to merge into the other person; and they leave warm fingerprints in your back, and whisper loving words into your hair.

intimacy is showing up for someone. it's assuring someone you’re not going to leave. it’s saying, “i choose you.” it's staying by their side while they're not at their best. it's having meaningful conversations, being honest and speaking your truth. it's making someone feel better. it's being comfortable in silence, in each other's presence.

intimacy is when someone looks at you and truly sees you, warts and all — and stays with you despite your flaws; because of them.

1. the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky