I don’t want to know how many orgasms you’ll give me.
I want to know how you’ll come home on days you can’t stand to see me because the responsibility of leading feels like too much.
I don’t want to read about what you believe.
I want to hear about the mistakes you’ve made that were life changing.
I want to hear how you repaired. Alone and together. Or if you didn’t, how you both walked away.
I don’t want to read about your fantasies.
I want to hear about what you do when life becomes too real.
Do you run? Go silent? Look for distractions?Stay?
I don’t want to read about how dominant you are.
I want to know how you treat people you have nothing to gain from.
I don’t want to hear that I’m special or unique.
I want to witness how you choose to walk in your own authenticity.
I don’t need promises.
I don’t want perfection.
What I do need and want is grace and presence and a willingness to try.
What I truly want to know is, if I showed you my soul…
would you be brave enough to show me yours?