Some of the most intense love stories I’ve written involve no touch and, at times, no physical presence either. Strange? Maybe.
Call it an act of delusional romanticism, or just a unique approach to love—or maybe even an obsession with Mr. Darcy—
it could just be a mix of all three.
—
In a time when the human body has pretty much become a public domain and the sexualization of connection has skyrocketed, I moved through the motions of modern expectations and fairly quickly realized they’re not for me.
—
It’s part of being a poet, a writer, or simply an artist that we tend to see the world through a more romantic and spiritual lens—which is a blessing, but also kind of a curse. I believe that, in general, it’s also a personal perspective, and the journey takes us to uncharted places, waiting to be explored.
Like many, I once equated physical presence with intimacy and connection. I thought, “Oh, wow. This is it.” when offered something I deemed as high-effort, which pretty much meant devotion and connection. I mean, that was the core message I saw everywhere in my environment: on social media, movies, songs, literature, conversations with friends, and elsewhere.
Was I wrong? Was anyone wrong?
Well, I’m not the one to judge what is wrong and what is right. But I can decide what feels true to me and my lifestyle.
—
Something very interesting happened that changed my entire approach.
To paint the picture: I actively decided that dating in this era simply isn’t for me and I opted out. Plenty of earned memories from past relationships—laughter, conversations, tears, vacations—exist within me. But something was always missing, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
I always told my friend “I don’t know what it is. Something just never really clicked.”
Time passed. I lived through some major life changes. I changed career paths, I finally allowed myself to dive into spirituality (something I had been wary and scared of in the past), and I got in touch with my life’s most important purpose: writing.
So, with all this, I dove deeper into myself and came to understand the world around me with newfound clarity.
—
And then, I lived something brief that I had never experienced before.
In the most mundane environment possible—a sterile, super-structured office—the most unexpected thing happened: for the first time in my life, I witnessed someone see me so clearly that it confused me for a while.
The confusion wasn’t the type of brain fog we might think of. No. It was more of a “Wow, this is new and strange…and exciting in a fresh and lighthearted way,” and “I didn’t know that someone could perceive me so clearly.”
It could very well be called a “mirroring” situation, where two people who have seemingly nothing at all in common sense something familiar in one another and it throws them off.
You get curious. You want to understand what this is and why it’s happening. Especially if you’ve done a lot of self-reflection and have worked through possible attachment issues, you don’t seek outside validation, you don’t enjoy unnecessary attention…
It makes you wonder.
It really wasn’t anything big, nor something that I’d ever pursue, for many practical reasons and an inner knowing that this period of my life is for me to focus on my craft. But this interaction inspired me to write three entire poems, which resulted in me understanding myself on a much deeper level.
I explore the physical sensations of love without sensual touch: starting with olfactory perception, moving to the internal effects of attraction, continuing to the shared resonance of mirrored souls, and finally reaching the spiritual recognition of my heart’s own predestined choices.
This trilogy explores new perspectives for me:
- Love not as commitment, but as recognition
- Romance not in grand gestures, but the soft kind, like a tiny, flickering flame
- Connection not as an obligation, but on a soul level
- Change not as a permanent reality, but as a stepping stone to one’s own evolution
- Innocence of intention, instead of forced reciprocation
—
In the end, I realized that I never really wrote any love poems before—at least none that would resemble these.
If I look at my old drafts from ten years ago, I was still playing around with form and words, trying to write something profound but not fully grasping the concept. Not because of a lack of depth, but a lack of personal growth on the level that allowed transmutation of such wisdom. Basically using every cliché in the world to write something…frankly, embarrassing.
The poems from 2021-2022 were highly different too: more focused on the reality of not wanting to be attached to anybody, yet craving the typical love most people talk about. Additionally, heartburn and heartbreak slid into those stanzas. For a long time after that period, I stopped writing. In fact, I didn’t actively write anything until about mid-summer 2024.
And the fact that I could write three poems—each exploring a different facet of romance and connection, all of which felt new to me—has prompted reflection on my beliefs about human connection, how far I’ve come, and the inner changes that brought me here.
I embrace the freedom of choosing a path that the world may not understand, or may even consider silly or bizarre.
—
So yeah, it’s true what they say: a drop can change the waves and move the ocean.
I love this approach. The small gasps of beauty in people’s words, behaviors, and thoughts. And people are truly art in motion—even those who appear more analytical and structured. If anything, they may very well be hiding a lot underneath their white shirts.
—
P.S. Just be yourself. You never know who you’re inspiring to write a love trilogy.
