You See Me

“I’m opening up to the idea of love again — not the kind that breaks me, but the kind that sees me. And it’s beautiful.” – Leesh

You like my eyes —
the way they speak
before my lips ever form the words.
You said they tell stories,
the kind most men ignore,
but you?
You listen with your gaze.

You like my body —
not just the shape,
but the rhythm of it.
The way I arch into softness,
the way my skin tightens under your truth.
You touch me like I’m not just here for pleasure,
but for presence.
And you give yours fully.

But what gets you?
Is my mind.
My conversation.
The way we sit in silence
and still speak volumes.

We talk like soulmates whispering in borrowed bodies.
Like we’ve known each other longer than we’ve admitted.
Like maybe, just maybe —
we were always meant to find each other
when the world got too loud
and we needed stillness.

You ask questions that make me pause.
Let me unravel slowly,
without pressure or pride.
You don’t rush me to bloom —
you wait.
Water.
Witness.

When we talk,
it feels like home.
Like the sacred kind.
Like church-without-walls kind.
Like breath-before-touch kind.
Like my soul looks at yours and says:
“There you are.”

You admire the parts of me
that have been unseen for so long —
not because they were hidden,
but because no one cared enough to look deeper.
You make me feel not just wanted —
but worthy.
Not just beautiful —
but understood.

And in this connection,
where energy dances between us,
where your voice feels like velvet on my spirit,
I’m reminded of something I forgot:

I am not hard to love.
I am just rare.
And it takes a certain kind of soul
to see me fully and still lean in.

So if this is the beginning…
don’t rush it.
Just stay.
And let me unfold.

“When the soul is ready, the heart stops hiding.”

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