By Bit and Bridle

Intimacy

Saturday, December 27, 2025

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Searching for intimacy is like chasing after the wind. I'm beginning to think that finding it does not really matter in the grand scheme of things, but the desire to share in my life commands me by bit and bridle. I often ask God to take my desires for closeness and affection away, but they've rested so easily upon my shoulders since I can remember. Even despite knowing the grass will always be greener in whichever pasture I do not reside, it seems belongingness still sets an ardent condition for my life whether I like it or not. I figure there is more to life than the lust and attention from women ...

Surely, there must be!

But I've seen that subtle yet burning hunger in their eyes before, and it's damning without any shred of a doubt. That primal look which flashes over them is elusive and almost indistinct, oftentimes missed within the blink of an eye, but the craving behind it is deep and intense; it billows into zeal but is hidden behind only a glance. However, in the face of that hunger, I recognize the impulse to satiate rather than to offer and share connection.

Where I search for intimacy, I find misjudgment. Where I find misjudgment, only grief abounds. By comparison, where you search for intimacy, you find satiety. Where you find satiety, you also find indulgence. So, the more I seek to understand you, the more I know I never will. Like always, I have longed for your warmth and your company, yet when I have it I prefer my own.

So close and so far away.

My heart has consistently been much too eager to latch onto the faintest shimmer of affection, but a great shame for it because it never learned the meaning of reciprocity. "A pity," I used to say, because I once had so much to give. I have always been like but a fish in the ocean, swallowing any and every lure cast in my way, and I assure you, my cheeks are filled with a great many jagged hooks both rusted and pristine. So perhaps the lesson God seeks to sear into the very marrow of my bones is to simply let go.

After all, each and every one of us is merely a byproduct of impressions and masks, buffeted by a surging tide of hormones, urges, and moods, all of which might depend on the day or even the compromisable, teetering hour! With every passing year, I come to recognize that your intentions and motivations are driven by self-interest rather than authenticity and reciprocation.

And who am I to be any different?

So, to each and every one of you, I would say: "Stop asking for vulnerability when you can hardly even stomach it." I wish I could tell you to stand ready for my arrival, but it wouldn't be worth the breath. Vulnerability and self-interest do not complement one another, so you will never see weakness come from me. You may hear of it, but I promise you will never witness with your own eyes—because to see it, means to ratify it; to lace it into my character and lodge it between your wavering trust and what you think of me.

When you only have words to corroborate my sensitivity, there will always remain a sliver of doubt. I may tell you of the meaning behind my tears and even of my deepest experiences in life, but they will always remain just a hair next to the deniable. What a blessing it will be, then, for someone who might be able to see my actions in line with my vulnerability, but until then, can you really say you know my character?

Just as I take you at face value, you might take me for my word. Thus, I urge you to reconsider whether you really know who I am. You are familiar to me—more so than I had anticipated, but I still do not know you. In return, I doubt you will ever truly be able to know me, because

Where I search for intimacy, I find misjudgment. Where I find misjudgment, only grief abounds.