Lust, Intimacy and the Lost Art of Slow Burns
The other day, I was having a conversation with a friend about relationships, what we’ve learned from them, what we’ve carried, and what we want to leave behind. As we talked, I found myself reflecting on how so many of my past relationships were built on a foundation of lust.
At the time, I didn’t question it. I let a lot of that behavior slide because I loved my partners unconditionally and wanted to see the best in them. But looking back, I realize how often I equated desire with connection, passion with intimacy, and how much of that dynamic was deeply rooted in trauma.
Lust can feel like a balm for the wounds we carry. When you’ve experienced rejection, abandonment, or loneliness, especially as a queer person, it’s easy to latch onto the immediacy of physical attraction. It offers a kind of validation: you’re wanted, you’re seen, you’re enough. But lust is not intimacy. It’s fleeting, surface-level, and often blinds us to the deeper work required to truly know someone.
For me, this realization hit hardest when I thought about how little yearning existed in many of my relationships. The slow, deliberate process of falling for someone, not just their body, but their mind, their soul, was replaced by something hurried and intense. What happened to taking our time? What happened to courting, to shared anticipation, to savoring the beauty of discovery?
Yearning isn’t just about waiting. It’s about longing. It’s the gentle ache of getting to know someone piece by piece, of building something meaningful together. It’s in the small, thoughtful gestures, the love notes, the quiet walks, the unspoken ways we say, I see you, and I care. When we skip yearning, we skip the foundation of intimacy. We rush into relationships without taking the time to understand who we are, let alone who our partner is.And I think about how much of this rushing, this urgency comes from trauma.
Many of us carry wounds that make us crave connection, but in doing so, we mistake proximity for closeness. It’s easier to fall into lust than to face the vulnerability of building true intimacy. But intimacy requires patience. It requires trust. It requires the courage to say, “Let’s slow down,” even when everything in us is screaming to hold on tightly.
Another thing I’ve been reflecting on is how stereotypes about masculinity in the lesbian community perpetuate this cycle. There’s this pervasive idea that masc-presenting lesbians are inherently hypersexual beings, always leading with lust. But that’s not the case. Masculinity, like any other expression of identity, is complex and nuanced. Reducing it to sexual dominance or a lack of emotional depth not only flattens our identities but also reinforces the very dynamics we’re trying to unlearn.
Some of the most tender, intimate connections I’ve had were with people who defied those stereotypes, people who weren’t afraid to be soft, to take their time, to love without rushing. And yet, I see how these expectations shape the way we approach relationships, how they create pressure to perform rather than simply be.
What stands out most to me now, as I continue reflecting on that conversation is how much I let slide in my past relationships. The love I gave in those relationships sometimes came at the expense of my own needs and boundaries. I ignored red flags, brushed off behaviors that hurt me, and convinced myself that lust was enough because I wanted to believe in the relationship. But love without true intimacy isn’t sustainable. And lust without yearning isn’t love, it’s an illusion.
I want to bring back yearning. I want to bring back the slow burns, the late-night talks, the joy of learning someone’s favorite song or the way they laugh when they’re caught off guard. I want love that feels intentional and patient, that isn’t rushing to prove itself but instead grows naturally over time.
There’s so much unlearning we need to do as a community. We need to question why so many of us equate speed with passion, why lust feels safer than intimacy, and how trauma continues to shape the way we love. And we need to remember that true intimacy, the kind that lasts, isn’t something we can rush. It’s something we build, piece by piece, with patience, care, and a willingness to truly see each other.
If we let go of the need to move fast, if we embrace the slowness of yearning, we might find something deeper than we ever thought possible.
As James Baldwin once wrote, "Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." True intimacy requires us to remove those masks, to step into the raw, vulnerable parts of ourselves and trust that they will be met with tenderness. That kind of love is worth waiting for.
Bell Hooks’ book “All About Love,” touches on this topic that you wrote about perfectly, she talks about the un-masculinity of Love and where it stems from. This was a great article to read thank you for the in-site
the most perfect expression of how I want to experience love and also brought so much awareness to how I may have been perpetuating toxic cycles for a sense of connection.. and i was about to do it again w someone I like, so thank you.