#lettersyoullneverread

Do you know what it’s like to touch other men and feel nothing? To have hands on my skin and laughter in my ears and still — still — ache for the ghost of you?

The men who stayed, who gave, who loved me — I couldn't feel them. Because you taught my body that wanting was supposed to feel like dying.

Everyone tells me I dodged a bullet. No. I took the bullet. It tore through my spirit and lodged itself in the marrow of who I used to be. And every day since, I have been learning how to walk around it, pretending it isn't still inside me, still poisoning everything good.

I could accept every ugly truth — that you never loved me, that you played me, that you saw me as nothing but a fleeting thrill — I could accept it all.

And still, this ache would not leave. You made me feel wanted once. That’s all it took. You carved your initials into the raw meat of my existence.

And now when men touch me, they touch a corpse. A shrine to you

Sif noire

part 1

He’ll never read this. But if he did, I wonder if he’d understand what I do to him… in my head.The moment I see you, I’ll feel it—your presence. That silent command in your body language, that don’t-f*-with-me energy. And I’ll love it. I won’t challenge it. I’ll surrender to it… but on my terms.

I’ll walk up to you, quietly, no small talk. Just that look in my eyes—the one that says I’ve imagined this a hundred times. I’ll run my fingers over your beard, pull your head down just a bit, and kiss you. Slow, open-mouthed, greedy.

Then I’ll whisper, ‘You’ve got no idea what you do to me.’

I’ll undress you with calm, focused hands. Every line of your body will be mine to explore. And then I’ll strip in front of you—deliberate, proud, no shame. I want you to watch me. To feel that control slipping with every piece of clothing I drop.

I’ll sit on your lap, facing you. Wrap my arms around your neck. Let you feel my breath on your jaw. And I’ll say, ‘Let me take care of you tonight. You carry the world—I just want to give you peace.’

Then I’ll guide your hands, kiss down your chest, and worship you like a man who deserves it. No distractions. No noise. Just the sound of your breath deepening while I give your body everything it’s been missing.

And when I ride you—slow, tight, locked eyes—it won’t be just sex. It’ll be your softest craving meeting my deepest ache. The kind of connection that makes even a hard man lose control.

You’ll try to stay silent—but I want to hear you moan. I’ll drag it out of you with my hips, my voice, and the way I say your name when you’re deep inside me. Over and over.

Not a bot. Just not basic.

Weird? Maybe. Or maybe you’re just not used to reading depth.