I knew the moment—
I saw her,
I wanted to know her mind.
I stepped into her—
not her body, not yet—
but that wild expanse behind her eyes,
and I knew I would not leave unchanged.
I wanted to claim what hid in her shadows.
Her mind was not tidy.
It was alive—
storm-lit skies over uncharted seas,
the air dense with possibility.
Others had called it broken.
They were wrong.
Her messy mind was the spark,
the lure that pulled me into her night.
I didn’t come to fix her.
I came to taste the dark in her thoughts,
to feel the heat that pulsed beneath the mess,
to walk barefoot through her storms
until they curled around me,
until they knew my name.
I wanted to stand at the center of her chaos.
I watched her open in increments,
each door I touched swinging wider,
each shadow bending under my hands.
I moved slow—
not to tease,
but to honor the gravity of her trust.
I wanted her to feel the weight of my wanting.
She was more than her body.
She was layered,
every contradiction a thread I pulled
until it burned against my fingers.
Her mind surrendered first,
then her breath,
then the space between us.
I wanted to unravel her until she trembled open.
I traced her unrest
the way some trace a lover’s spine—
with reverence,
with hunger.
Not punishing.
Guiding.
Awakening.
I wanted her to see herself through my desire.
And when the fire caught,
it was not mine alone—
it was ours,
burning through the ruins,
lighting the cathedral of her being
from the inside out.
And in that glow,
I let her see what I had hidden all along.
Her messy mind had awakened my darkness.