I’ve always believed that some things are better felt than explained. A lingering glance, a breathless pause, the brush of fingertips across skin… they say more than any well-crafted sentence ever could.

To me, the true language of love is touch. It’s in the way a man places his hand on the small of your back to guide you through a door, or how he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek and smiles like he’s found a secret worth keeping.

Touch can calm a storm, ignite a fire, and create a feeling of safety that no words could ever promise. It says, “I’m here. I see you. I want you.”

I wonder… if we were close, would you be the kind of man who holds my hand just because? Who knows when to pull me into a hug without needing a reason? Or would your fingers trail slowly down my spine as if writing a story only we understand?

Because sometimes, love isn’t shouted—it’s whispered… with skin, breath, and the quiet warmth of connection. ✨