Silent language of proximity

What happens between two breaths.

It often begins quite quietly. With a feeling in the air. A feeling like the light crackling just before it rains. A moment in which something is there—unspoken, but tangible.

A look that lasts longer than it needs to. A breath that goes deeper than expected. An entire room full of people that becomes increasingly quiet around us the longer we look into each other's eyes.

In these moments, closeness is expressed not through words, but through familiarity. Through a perception that goes beyond the obvious. A listening that doesn't work with the ears.

I see you. I see how you try to appear strong—and how your hands become unsteady when you forget. I sense your tension before you even notice it. Your desire to be seen—without having to explain yourself.

And that's exactly when something begins: A space opens between you and me. A space in between.

“Eroticism lives in the space between me and you.” – Esther Perel

Not quite you. Not quite me. But something third that only emerges when we are both ready to be present without a mask.

I don't ask about your desires because I already see them. In the hesitation of your gaze. In your breathing, which changes as I approach. In the way you stand—as if you're holding yourself and wanting to be caught at the same time.

I guide you not with words. But with the clarity of my calm. By my decision to be there, the barriers that had existed between two complete strangers were broken. You feel it with your whole body. You relax, and I see your smile, which I return.

In such moments, a smile becomes significant.

Not fake, not polite – but that one thing that breaks through when you feel that you are really being seen.

“A day without a smile is a day lost. A day with a kiss is a day won.” – Sholem Aleichem

And sometimes it's a kiss. A kiss that's tender, unobtrusive, and unplanned. Placed like a gentle exclamation mark at the end of a thought you couldn't quite formulate.

In that moment, the space becomes denser. The air changes. Everything slows down. My movements. Your thoughts. Even time seems to briefly hold its breath.

And at some point, all by itself, the moment comes when you let go.

Not out of weakness. But out of trust. Because you no longer have to think. Because you can now simply feel.

"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." –Leonard Cohen

Exactly where you soften and your protective layer is no longer needed, that's where it begins: the closeness that can't be faked. As soon as you decide to take action that leads you into the seclusion of your hidden longing, words become obsolete.

You didn't say much, but I heard all your deeply kept secrets.

The silent language of proximity is not a technique. It's not a trick.

My skin and my lips are the channels through which we exchange thoughts and feelings without speaking.

I speak it: the silent body language of closeness. You can too, if you want. All by yourself.