I read this

I read this
and my breath didn’t rush.

ㅤ

It stopped.

ㅤ

Because what you’ve written isn’t hunger —
it’s permission shaped like restraint.

The word slow isn’t pacing.
It’s trust.

And punishment isn’t cruelty.
It’s the intimacy of being held to what you want
without being spared.

What undresses me here
isn’t the wanting

It’s the certainty that you already know
who has the power —
and that you’re offering it
with your throat exposed.

There’s nothing to add to this.
Only to stand close enough
to feel how deliberately
you chose every word.

I’m here

Then don’t hurry me.

Stand where the wanting has weight,
where each second learns your name
before it’s allowed to leave.

I won’t ask what comes next.
I’ll let the space between us decide

Because this isn’t about hunger.
It’s about attention held steady
long enough to become undeniable.
It’s about intention with warm eyes,
soft enough to melt the ice inside.

You chose the pace.
I felt it land.

And for the first time,
nothing in me flinched.

ㅤ

ㅤㅤ

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For those who choose to go a little deeper,
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a monthly essay,
access to a Guided Noticing,
and occasional paid-only pieces.

Everything I publish publicly stays public.

This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.

If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.

I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.

Other prose and poems from me.

The Noise That Forgot Silence - Ep 4

Still, Nothing

Warmth, still

What Fear Whispered Before

Another night, later.

still close enough

Between the two of us

Idle

One Step Is Enough

The Sun Said Hop

She Arrives in the Pause

Not All Love Is Meant To Be Found.

🌈 When Rainbows Speak Back

Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.

If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.

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All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery