Ami

There are people who will die having never known what safety feels like. People who have forgotten the sound of silence because all they have ever heard were sirens, gunfire, or someone screaming their name. Children who will grow old too quickly, and adults who were never given the chance to be children at all. Somewhere tonight, someone will fall asleep hungry. Someone will bury the only person who ever loved them. Someone will pray for tomorrow while another will beg for it not to come. We like to believe the world bends toward justice, that kindness always outweighs cruelty, that one day peace will arrive and stay. But history has never made such a promise. The earth has always been beautiful enough to inspire poets and brutal enough to make them necessary. Perhaps that is the cruelest truth of all… Not that suffering exists, but that it never asks for permission. It simply arrives, and the world keeps turning as if nothing happened.

Everyone knows how to undress, yet so few know how to unravel. Bodies meet every day, skin against skin, breath against breath, but somewhere along the way intimacy was mistaken for proximity. Sex became a performance, desire a commodity, seduction a carefully rehearsed script. Everyone wants to be seen as sexy, but almost no one wants to be truly erotic. Eroticism has never belonged to bare skin. It lives in restraint, in anticipation, in trembling hands that hesitate before they touch. It is the unbearable tension of wanting to know another soul before claiming their body. We have become so obsessed with consuming one another that we have forgotten how to savor. Perhaps that is why so much of modern desire feels strangely empty. We no longer ache for connection, only for satisfaction, and the two have never been the same thing.