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Black suit. Velvet heels. Empowering moves. Bold enough to make silence the signature. A presence defined by power and command. Grace weighted with gravity, beauty sharpened to precision.

You’ve encountered the saying that people will kill you gradually, over time. The merciless principle is that they wield what ought to be harmless—gazes like mine, daring you to look away.

Tempering my own desire is within my control, yet I can’t tame your violent passions for what follows if we remain silent on the stairs.

I can’t sit still; I teeter on the edge. Paris has been my Colosseum, and thenceforth, I have wandered like one of those restless philosophers.

I know I’m a madwoman, a coward, for not spilling out what is choking me, or perhaps what will soon claw at your throat. Yes, I fail at keeping my words alive, yet I always answer when it is time to serve.

I might be a little cheeky tonight, stealing your bio as the premise for my sweet post. Yes, you too are my home in every season, since I love you through every change in your soul. I love you every second, and I’d love you to bit.ly/andpieces every 15th, my dear man.

I long for that night. I, who 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 so seldom, drift in quiet apathy, yet I desire the night when my white dress is framed by moonlight, and your eyes can’t look away.

Do not assume that I am sharing my most intimate thoughts here; some insights I have yet to uncover within myself.

Claiming my first Moon Man #VMA as a soloist by leaving the audience speechless with a speech meant to capture the spirit of Socrates at his trial was definitely never on my plan, yet heaven had it in store all along.

My man saw these photos first because gauging his reaction is basically like predicting yours, and seeing how his compliments define Eros, I might as well assume you’ll do the same.

Dear you are, Éric Rohmer, dear you’ll always be.

The air whispers that escapism szn approaches and perhaps I should bury all these melancholic musings on death.