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. ...
There are places no one touches, yet they ache the loudest. Inside hips that remember too much. Beneath breath that holds back sound. Between thighs that steam after silence. Maybe the ache isn’t what we fear - maybe it’s what keeps us soft. Should I take rose extract to feel more edible? Why do I sip aloe at night, hoping moisture becomes memory? How do I prepare for his mouth without words? Do I crave balm to soothe, or to seduce? What if I glow with ashwagandha not for health - but to feel touchable? Do I crave moisture because I want to be tasted? Can jasmine remind him of my thighs? Why do I wear silk underneath nothing? Is my yoni glow a signal or a secret? Should I jade egg before a date or steam to release shame? In pigeon pose, I don’t stretch I confess. My hips remember hands I’ve forgotten. Do I cry in savasana because I want someone to see it? Is yoga a kink or camouflage? Why do I arch in plank like I want to be noticed? I sip hibiscus tea to feel kissed in...