Dear Lover (Letter to my Beloved)

Dear Lover,

Please allow me to bare my naked soul for you – once again. As we dive deep into this connection of body, mind and all that comes with it, it’s easy to get lost in projections and ideas. Assuming that we both want the same – but do we?

When words are unspoken and unwritten, we can believe we know what’s going around in each other’s heads as if we were one. But we are not, and I hope we never will be. Because I would love to get lost with you, though never want to lose myself in you.

See, I don’t need that prince who comes to save me. I don’t want that King who caresses his little princess. I don’t need a fucking warrior high on masculinity. Oh, I don’t need a Viking!

I want a human being who knows he’s on a journey and shares with me about the experiences on his way. I want someone brave and I want someone afraid of what is coming. I want someone who dreams and someone who takes action.

I want someone who thinks I am amazing without putting me on a pedestal. I want someone who thinks I’m sexy and tells me about it. I want someone who wants to be with me in the moment. And I don’t care whether that’s every day or twice a month – as long as you are present with me when you are with me, even if presence comes with insecurity, distraction of emotions. Fuck, I want it all! All that is you and makes you who you are.

Dear Lover

So, is it not a romantic relationship I want to experience with you? Oh, please no! I have been there before. The perceived safety of entanglement that is nice at first, but wears out over time – when the safety created together appears to be a golden cage that shines bright, but keeps us both small, unable to fly.

I don’t want something as polished and smooth as a jade egg. I want rough edges and messy emotions. I want to look deep into the mirror of your eyes and see how much I still have to learn. I want your honest words to cut deep into my soul and shed light into shadows as I sharpen my knives to return the favor. I want screaming sensations of sweaty sex and wet bed sheets and banging on walls.

And I don’t care about the label. To me, it’s not about whether it’s called a relationship, friendship, or nothing at all. I’m not even sure whether you are my lover, beloved or friend. Labels don’t interest me anymore. They feel like a settlement for the mind. That same perceived safety that is so unreal if we look at it deeply. I want the reality of truth: being in the now without the story of the past or future, without the story of what this should or should not be. It just is, to me. We are.

And although my anxious mind wants that safety and hold on tight, my soul wants more than that. My bare soul wants to grow beyond anything and everything I used to be. I want to support each other as well as ourselves to grow to heights we never even knew possible and then share all we learned along the way with the world. This is not just about us.

Indeed, this is not just about us, dear lover. I believe there is purpose in every meeting, and ours touched me so deeply that I want to explore every little corner of it.

I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend and I’m not asking you to promise me anything. I’m not asking for your hand and I’m not asking to make this last forever. All I’m asking for is you to receive my naked soul and to share yours with me. Both walking our own path, not knowing how long we’ll be able to reach out and hold hands. Maybe one moment, maybe forever.

Let’s raise a toast to our wounded hearts, as we’ve both been hurt before. Let’s celebrate our scars and the vulnerability of opening ourselves once again, sharing our naked bodies and bare souls in this luscious space of love.

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