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. ...
The flute of champagne in my hand isn't about celebration. It’s positioning. I reach for the clutch is it full of secrets or just lipstick? The slit in my dress says I’ve healed, but the fabric still knows better. Is this neckline a distraction or a defense? My heels echo through the marble like I planned the acoustics. I post not for presence, but to be proof. I bought the ring the day I stopped asking for anything. Every quote I memorized, I perform with my collarbone. Old flames don’t burn in this lighting they shimmer behind my shoulder. I cross my legs, not for modesty but for dominance. There’s a way to walk into a room without saying anything—and leave it echoing in your shape. I wear satin not to soothe but to signal. Gossip echoes clearer when you blink slow and smile facing the exit. Sometimes, revenge is just being seen not staying. The champagne glass isn’t for the party it’s for the hand you didn’t hold. My dress isn’t red for love it’s red for remembering. The necklin...