Asking Questions
One of my favorite forms of intimacy has always been asking questions, not to pry, but to understand the architecture of someone’s inner world. The way they think. The way they feel. The way their past still echoes in their present. The fears they don't speak of. The dreams they hesitate to admit out loud. The ways their childhood still lingers in the person they've become.
I just think that every person is an entire universe disguised as someone ordinary. And universes are never discovered through assumptions, only through curiosity. Since I’ve been a believer that there are parts of people that remain hidden until someone asks. What shaped you. What makes you feel safe. Things you miss about being a child. Or conversation about liking the rain, or only when you're watching it from a window. Pineapple on pizza? What's something life taught you the hard way. A memory you revisit when no one's watching.
They're ordinary questions, perhaps. But sometimes, ordinary questions uncover extraordinary people. Because every answer is a doorway into another room they've never shown anyone before. And maybe that's what intimacy has always meant to me. Not knowing someone's favorite color or favorite food. But knowing which version of themselves they're still trying to forgive. Knowing what makes their eyes light up before they even realize they're smiling and the stories behind the scars no one else notices.
And I hope, if life is kind enough, that I become the person someone feels safe telling everything to. Not because I have all the answers, but because they'll know I'll never stop asking questions that make them feel seen.
Sometimes, the greatest way to love someone isn't by speaking. It's by asking, "Tell me more."