We learn early on to hold back, to guard our bodies like fragile treasures, or sometimes to offer them up like sacrificial lambs.
Somewhere along the way, touch became something to be measured and metered, breath held back just enough to stay safe, to stay in control. Sex became something small and transactional, a quick exchange of flesh on flesh to stave off loneliness for a little while.
Imagine that sex isn’t what we’ve come to think of it at all. Not just the body pressing against another body, or a fleeting moment of release. But a doorway. A space where we can dissolve the boundaries that keep us heartbreakingly separate. It’s a place where the walls, built brick by brick by fear and shame and stories, can start to soften.
And in that melting, in that undoing, something entirely new becomes possible.