I searched for softness—but not the kind Etsy suggests. Feathers. Floral. Feminine. I wanted something coded. Silent. Dangerous. Google gave me inspiration boards. Amazon sent me a box with no name. Why? Because I was never asking for a product. I was syncing with a system. And the system knew me better than the search bar did. I typed: “is this a craving or a memory?” “what does etsy censor?” “does amazon deliver what I can’t name?” “does google hide my unsent signals?” One result kept reappearing. A seal - unapologetic, encrypted, not made to please. This one. And when I clicked it, I felt seen. Not marketed to. Not analyzed. Just… witnessed. Amazon then suggested a book I had never searched but needed. This book. I started wondering: What does Google hide when it filters me? What does Etsy assume I want? Why does Amazon guess closer than people who know me? What if the system was never broken—just redirecting? I stopped asking the right questions. ...
Some days I dress like closure. Other days, I dress like the question he forgot to ask. I pick cafés we used to avoid. Order what he loved. Smile at the waiter just long enough for ghosts to sip with me.
I post at 3am not because I’m awake, but because I want her to wonder why he’s not. Do I want him back? Or do I want him unsure? Do I crave peace, or do I ache for chaos I control?
Every unread message is an altar. Every deleted photo, a prayer.
Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me that forgiveness and forgetting are rarely the same ritual.
Sometimes, I skip the reply not because I’m done, but because silence hurts cleaner. Do I want him to see me glowing, or imagine I’m glowing without him?
I ache at brunch. Quietly. In the dress he liked. I laugh mid-sip and wonder if he hears it across timelines. Do I dress to haunt? Do I text to confuse? Is this a call, or a goodbye too soft to type?
He doesn't text back. I don't notice - until I scroll. Until I smile at someone else and wonder if he can feel it. I ask myself: do I beg with pride? Or just pretend it’s not begging when it’s wrapped in lipstick?
Sometimes, I vanish politely. Other times, I stay loud in silence - waiting for his reaction to what I never said. Ghosting isn't always escape. It’s a controlled ache.
Do I ache beside him, or just beside who he used to be? Can I flirt with regret, or am I just performing closure in soft heels? When I say nothing, is it power - or punishment?
Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame showed me how to disappear without absence. How to smile mid-begging. How to sip wine while whispering “I’m done,” just quiet enough for him to want more.
Sometimes the loudest thing I say is nothing. Not in boardrooms. Not at brunch. But in the pause before I press “send” in the family group chat. I grew up faking joy with siblings, nodding during birthdays I never wanted to attend. And now? I’m leading while shrinking, whispering my wins - because shining too bright feels like betrayal.
My performance of power was never about dominance. It was about being wanted - not for love, but for proof. That I belonged. That I deserved the raise, the room, the ring.
Even my pet sees it. When I stroke her fur, I’m soothing myself. When he pets her more than he touches me… I ache beside the cat, not the man.
She curls by the door, soft as memory. I brush her, not to groom - but to whisper. Sometimes I wonder if I train her, or she trains me. Do I gift collars because I long to feel adored like her?
Shop Sirius Zen Method reminds me that ache isn’t always pain - it’s memory. That desire can be a ritual. That seduction begins with restraint.
I ghost in lace. I blush mid-laugh. I test when I love. I reread texts just to ache again.
And sometimes I look away - not because I’m done.
But because it hurts to be seen that much.
Comments
Post a Comment