💋 When He Touches Me Gently

There’s something sacred in the way he touches me now —

not as a claim,

but as a prayer.

His hands no longer reach to take,

but to remind —

that love can be soft,

that closeness doesn’t have to hurt,

that my body can still trust what it feels.

There was a time I flinched at gentleness —

as if softness meant danger.

But he stayed,

learning every silence,

listening with his fingertips

until my breath learned not to hide.

It’s strange how healing can sound like sighs

and feel like warmth pressed against your skin.

He doesn’t ask for more —

he simply stays long enough

for my heart to remember

that touch can mean safety again.

🕯 Sometimes love doesn’t heal with words —

it heals with the hands that choose to hold, not own.