notes to myself…
Some nights I’m the storm. Others, her shelter.
I used to think dominance was about control. Now I know it’s about presence. The way she breathes slower when I hold her, the way her fingers tighten when I don’t say a word, the way her walls fall in silence, not in commands.
I’ve touched skin that trembled, but it’s the trembling voice I remember. I’ve kissed mouths that moaned, but it’s the whispered please that stays with me.
Sometimes I miss women I never even undressed. Because it wasn’t their body I wanted to break, it was the distance between who they were and who they could’ve been with me.
That’s the ache no one sees. Not hunger. Not lust. But the memory of a closeness that almost happened.
And still, when I trace a shoulder in the dark, it’s not for possession. It’s to remind myself that I’m capable of ruin, but I choose intimacy instead.
















