What The Body Hummed

Where desire hums, the body remembers.

What the body hummed: a shoreline moment where presence meets pulse, and desire glows steady as embers.

Intimacy isn’t always a grand gesture.
Sometimes it’s a glance, a breath,
a moment where your body recognizes safety
before your mind can name it.

Not all songs begin with sound.
Some begin with sensation,
with the truth your body knows
long before you do.

This is how I return to myself:
with presence,
with permission,
with pulse.

I began by listening to the hum—soft as breath, sure as heat, unmistakably mine.

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Desire is not always loud.
Sometimes it’s the way a hand lingers
just a second longer,
the way a gaze softens
when it meets yours,
the way silence stretches—
not awkward,
but sacred.

I used to think intimacy was proximity.
Now I know it is presence:
being seen without flinching,
being touched without disappearing.

There is an art to this:
to undressing without removing clothes,
to being known without being explained,
to letting someone witness the parts of you
you once hid even from yourself.

I don’t crave fireworks.
I crave resonance—
the kind of connection that hums beneath the skin,
that says I see you
without a single word.

Some desires don’t burn—they glow, steady as embers waiting to be met.

This is the aria I sing now,
not for applause,
but because it is the only song
that feels like home.

There is intimacy in being seen.
And then—
there is power
in seeing yourself.

Your body has always known the way back.

Desire led me back to my own reflection—
not just to witness who I was,
but to choose who I would become.

The body knows what the mind forgets.
It knows when it’s safe,
when it’s seen,
when it’s home.

And the more you listen to its hum,
the more you realize
intimacy isn’t about being touched—
it’s about being met.

@notesformysoulmate

This piece is protected—not to guard the flame, but to honor the body that learned to listen to its own heat.
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If this piece stirred something warm and familiar in you, the next doorway waits here:

What the Heat Didn’t Burn

A return to memory, heat, and the truths that rise when you stop pretending you forgot.

If this piece stayed with you, you can find more of my writing on Medium — where I share work that’s less lyrical and more conversational.
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