For my birthday, he made me feel sacred
It’s kind of the perfect present. Not flowers or breakfast in bed or something to unwrap. Just… the feeling of being treated like I mattered. Not just desired, but chosen. Revered, even. Like I was worth slowing down for.
He wrote it on my skin—sacred. And in the moment, I felt it. Like I wasn’t just someone to fuck. I was something to honor. It was quiet. Focused. More care than I’m used to.
And that’s maybe the hardest part. Because I do want that feeling. I crave it. But I also know with him, it was part of the scene. Intentional, yes. But not a promise. Not something that lasts.
It’s hard to hold onto the softness when I know it isn’t mine to keep. But for a little while, he gave it to me. And I guess that’s something.
Happy birthday to me, I guess.