Do I Need To Have Sex With You To Tell You That I Love You?

I despise my sex obsessed generation. At least it seems like it started with us. The age of people losing their v-cards dipping down into the early teens, and even younger. Society pressured us into thinking that somehow sex validates a relationship. That it adds some sort of hidden dimension to love. But people are tricking themselves if they think that sex leads to intimacy.

I mean trust me, I get it. Sex feels good. The passion, the rush, the ride. It all feels so surreal in the moment. Hungry mouths search for meaning in the body of another human. Maybe it has something to do with stripping ourselves down. We bare our nakedness, vulnerability mixed with fear concocted out of excitement. And someone takes that vulnerability we bare and they make us feel like it matters. They love our bodies, sometimes rough, sometimes soft. A tender touch turned hair intwined fingers.

But when you tear it apart, sex is just about control. It’s about one partner dominating the other. It’s about feeling the need to consent to be dominated. Movies, TV shows, novels; they all guise the control under a sheep’s clothing of intimacy. Of love. Of passion. Of connection. Of want. Of need. Do I need to have sex to show you I love you?

What about knowing that lucky charms is your favorite cereal, or that you’d rather have black tea over coffee? What do you feel when I stock up on organic macaroni because I know that you’re conscious about your body? What runs through your mind when I sent you simple texts reminding you how special you are to me? Does it tell you that I love you?

I’d rather lay on the couch and jump at scary movies while you laugh at me. I like drowning in the depths of your gaze when you listen to me talk about nostalgic memories and simpler times. I could bathe in the warmth of your smile, and the safety of your embrace. I wouldn’t trade anything for the nights when you’ve bared your soul. I savor each memory like precious diamonds of hopes, of dreams, of fears, of aspirations. And every time I get to cook for you is another moment to show that I care about you.

Sex can’t show you any of those things. All it can do is express my want for your body, but it doesn’t show you my need for your intimacy. I want your humanity. I want to lay down and be lulled to sleep by the beats within your chest. I want to sing out of pitch, and dance without rhythm in front of you. I want to give you my tears, and I’ll take yours. We’ll bind our pains like a suture binds a wound. I want to laugh until it hurts, and call you when I’m afraid.

I don’t want to spend my time tumbling on tinder, buzzing all over bumble, or ogling at okcupid profiles. They’re all just dead end roads that lead to empty one night stands. Everyone is just looking for that inner fulfillment, the inner need for intimacy. But all that they’re finding is sex, which is why their search never ends.

I want my search to have ended. I want the treasure map to show a giant red X where you’re standing. Because in you I have found a spectacular light that shines through your form. With you I have something that everyone wants, but doesn’t know how to find. And sometimes I can’t even put into words how it makes me feel, all I can do is smile and know that its a true rarity. I hope your ears are not silent to all the little ways I speak those 3 words, 8 letters. I Love You.