I prefer silent conversations, ones where bodies speak and hearts listen. I prefer silence, in its comfortability. I've never found silence to be uncomfortable. It has a way of wrapping it's fingers around your frame and hugging you as time stills. It has a way of being the only thing you can think about– that everything being nothing at all. I prefer praise. Silence has a way of whispering sweet nothings into your ears, passed as a breeze. It has a way of locking eyes with you as his hands slip into your shirt. They rather console than violate, a warming "I'm here" and it is the only permanent thing in the temporary moment. I prefer sweet truths because why must white lies taste like honey but reality bitter? I prefer silence, intimacy, entangled in eachother, entangled in yourself with knots you don't know how to tie. Knots you cannot comprehend how to unravel, but silence, he is here to tie them tighter and hush your heart. I prefer praise in a world of degradation.