Speak like you think—it ..
Speak like you think—it wouldn’t make difference, a waste of my breath. And now that I’ve read it, I crave it. To have a voice that is soothing, soft spoken. Or to hear it. And the thought of love languages arises in the story, what would I want? ‘I love you’s and confessions of contentedness whispered to me in soft tones? Presents, nendoroids, games, rings, clothes gifted to me in hopes of making me happy? Quiet, warm moments shared on walks n activities, or sitting sky gazing? Or subtle touches, hand holding, tight hugs, simply lying together on the floor, and caresses with a gentleness that is oh so telling?
Or maybe it’s in a connection, a bond that you know only you share. A struggle, or a feeling, so unique to the two of you that it ties you together. “Dang shawty we both not ok”
Moving on, I can’t help but feel like none of this matters, none of the shame or anything, so it’s whatever. I don’t really care.