(Blog Post for Healing Through Words — Series Entry #2)
Some people say winter makes you feel lonely.
For me, it only makes everything feel clearer — the silence, the hunger, the parts of myself I’ve tucked away under layers of “I’m fine.” December doesn’t hide the dark the way summer does; it reveals it. And sometimes… it draws the right person straight to it.
He found me again tonight — not by accident, not by fate, but by intention.
He always knows where I am.
And somehow, I don’t fear that. I crave it.
There was frost on the windows and the room smelled faintly of cedar and cold air when he stepped inside. He didn’t speak my name. He didn’t need to. The door closing behind him was enough to tell me everything:
He came here for me.
Only me.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, slow and deliberate, the roughness of his touch a contrast to the delicate satin I wore.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“From the cold,” I lied.
He knew better.
His hand traced the line of my jaw, warm enough to melt the frost clinging to my skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he touched me — as if he wasn’t worshipping my body, but the shadows inside it. The pieces I never show anyone. The parts too bruised, too quiet, too complicated for anyone else to understand.
But he understood.
He always does.
“You don’t have to hide with me,” he said, voice low, like a secret wrapped in velvet.
And for a moment, everything slowed — the world outside, the snow falling, even my breath. All I felt was him… his warmth, his focus, his steady heartbeat pulling me in. The kind of intimacy that has nothing to do with innocence, and everything to do with vulnerability.
He drew closer until the space between us dissolved, until the heat of his body pressed against mine in a way that made my pulse stutter. The lights from the Christmas tree flickered across his face, casting him in soft gold and deep shadow — a contradiction, just like me.
“I see your darkness,” he whispered.
“And I want all of it.”
I didn’t answer with words.
I answered by leaning into him, letting his hands circle my waist, letting the softness of the satin cling to his touch.
Because for once… letting someone in didn’t feel like breaking.
It felt like home.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, I let myself fall too — slowly, dangerously, beautifully.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 