I Worship at the Altar of Us. 🕯️😏

I don’t bow to stone idols—I kneel at the altar we built from stolen glances, tangled sheets, and whispered “stays.” 🕯️😏
Our sanctuary isn’t grand—it’s hidden in dim hallways, backseats, and breathless pauses between heartbeats. But it’s holy. Every touch is a ritual. Every kiss, an offering. And the way you look at me when the world isn’t watching? That’s my communion. 🔥 We don’t need stained glass—just the flicker of candlelight on your skin, the hush of skin on skin, the sacred silence that says “you’re mine” without a single word. I worship not in perfection, but in the beautiful mess of us: raw, real, and recklessly devoted. Because this altar isn’t made of marble… it’s made of us. And I’d burn every other temple down just to keep ours burning. ❤️‍🔥

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