Intimacy

Elinor Carucci's Intimacy

He Said:

She wants to know what's on my mind. I hate that. Most of the time it's nothing I want to share. I like her feet. They are so pretty, so clean, so different than mine.
I will avoid the "what's on your mind" conversation in any way I can, and painting her toes is a pleasant distraction. I'm doing a bad job but she doesn't care, by now she knows me well enough to know I focus when I'm stalling. I love that she lets it go. I love that I will muck up her feet and she lets me. I love the closeness between us that needs no words.

She Said:

No. No. No. And I'm not just saying this because I'm on the cusp of marriage. But seriously. I know intimacy is a beautiful state to achieve. Overcoming the fear that if someone knew everything there was to know, they would leave is, a gift and not one everyone will receive. But there should be a point at which two people remain separate beings and not morph into one. Moments like a trip to the beauty salon. I cherish the time when I go alone and get lost in trashy magazines, or other times when I go with my girlfriends for a good gossip. At no stage have I felt the need to include my other half in these little rituals. And I highly doubt that will change. Sharing coffee and the papers in bed on Sunday morning: beautiful. Having your man give you a pedicure: (I don't care how you dress it up) creepy. Really, no.