Reading in the same room, occasionally sharing a passage out loud. Floating. Water, warmth, maybe not even talking. Just being bodies in the same space. Wandering somewhere unfamiliar, pointing at things, no destination in mind. Sitting outside, watching the sky change, comfortable silence. Being horizontal. Robes. Someone brings you food. You don't move unless you want to. Does dancing count as nothing? It feels like nothing. It feels like everything.

Like a conversation that keeps unfolding—one topic leading to another until suddenly it's 3am. Like the edges of reality went soft. Like you touched something ancient together. Like an adventure neither of you could have predicted. You'll be talking about this night for years. Like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Just you, them, and more stars than you've ever seen Like being held. Warm, quiet, cared for. No performance required. Like a fever dream in the best way. Loud, bright, and you're both laughing.

Ideas. Histories. The book neither of us has read yet. What it feels like to be fully present. No distractions. Just us and the world. Something impossible. Something we can't explain. I want us to get a little lost. Quiet. Real quiet. And what we're like inside of it. What we're like when we're not trying so hard. When we let ourselves be soft. Who we are when we stop holding back. I want to see you unleashed.

A first edition of something, slightly foxed, with someone else's notes in the margins. A shell that still smells like the ocean. You hold it and you're back there. Something you bartered for. You're not sure what it does. You don't care. A photograph of the sky that doesn't capture it at all, but you remember. Nothing physical. Just the feeling of being rested, finally, down to the bone. Glitter in places you'll be finding for weeks. A wristband you refuse to take off.

We'd simply find the weirdest option and commit. We already have a place. We saw it on the walk. We'd let whoever was hungrier decide. We packed snacks. We're not even going inside today. We'd just follow the music and eat wherever it leads. We'd eat fruit on the beach and call it a meal.

Waist-deep in glowing water, laughing at something sacred. A street you weren't looking for, buying something you don't understand, completely alive. A balcony. Wine you'll forget the name of. A conversation you won't. Outside at night, looking up, realizing how small you both are—and that it's a comfort. In a crowd, both of you moving, the room one pulse. Side by side, quiet, warm, needing nothing.

What I look like when I'm genuinely at rest. I don't think you've seen that yet. The thing I love that I've never been able to explain right. Maybe here, you'll just feel it. How my body moves when I stop thinking about how it looks. What my silence is like when it's not lonely. That I can be surprised. That I'm not as mapped as I seem. The version of me that comes out in the water. Softer. Less guarded.

Let me carry the plans. You just exist for a while. Let me read to you. Let me bring you tea. Let me be soft with you. Let me lead on the dance floor. Trust me with the night. Let me sit with you when you get quiet. I won't try to fix it. Let me find things for you. Strange things. Gifts you didn't know you needed. Let me hold the sunscreen and make sure you drink water and kiss the places you got too much sun.

Mind-full. Tired from thinking good thoughts. Head buzzing with new ideas. Sun-soaked. Body tired. The kind where you sleep deep and dream in color. Story-tired. "You won't believe what happened" tired. Quiet-tired. Like I finally exhaled something I've been holding for years. Soft-tired. Rested but in that way where your edges are gentler. Happy-tired. Hoarse from singing. Feet sore from dancing. Worth it.

Something to talk about. Stimulation. I need our minds to stay lit. Sensory beauty. I need to feel where I am—the water, the light, the heat. Surprise. If I know what's coming, what's the point? Privacy. Real privacy. Just us and the quiet. Rest. Actual rest. I need to come back softer than I left. Energy. I want to come home tired from joy, not from obligation.