write it anyway.

the version of you who needs to read what you’re writing doesn’t exist yet.

not in your timeline.

they’re somewhere on their own, in their own present, scrolling past everything else, looking for the exact words you almost

did. not. say. out. loud.

the bravest thing on this platform is not the polished essay. it’s the writer who hits publish even when they’re scared, before they feel ready.

and it’s also the writer who publishes without fear, who shows up bold and steady and trusts what they have to give.

both are feeding the same universe. both are leaving something behind.

if you’re not sure whether to write….write. the universe keeps a record.

your generation gets the gift.

the next generation gets the inheritance.

the ones who can’t yet see themselves get the mirror.

write it anyway.

mm.🤎

𝒊 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕
a lukewarm love.

and every time
i say this out loud
to my aunties,

they begin handing me lists.

“you just need somebody kind.”
“somebody with a job.”
“somebody who can fix things
around the house.”
“somebody who don’t run the streets.”
“somebody you can talk to.”

ha! (respectfully)

as if my soul
has survived all these years

simply starving
for logistics.

no.

i want a love
that ruins me
for anyone else.

the kind
that walks into the room

and rearranges
my breathing.

the kind
that makes me forget
what i was reaching for

the moment
his hand finds mine.

i want a love
that touches me

and i feel it
three days later.

i want
a love that knows me.

a love that reminds me often
of the freckle behind my ear —
the one i finally saw,
the one no one else
has ever mentioned.

that knows
which laugh is real

and which one
i use at work

that knows
the difference between

i’m good

and i’m good

that hears me singing
in the car

and does not just listen

he knows every word too
and finishes the line with me
just as loud

that knows
my favorite playlist

not because he grabbed my phone
and searched for it

but because every time
he rides with me
he takes note..

and adds it
to his own phone

so whenever
i get in his car

my songs
are already waiting

and we sing loud
then too

that knows
when to ask

and when to just sit beside me

that knows
my voice in the dark

that feels me
in a crowded room

and begins looking for me
before i ever call

a love
that says my name

and undoes something in me
i did not know
was tied.

i want a love
that does not cool.

not when we are tired.
not when we are broke.
not when the world is loud
and we are exhausted by it.

a love
that shows up on a tuesday

and burns
the whole week down.

i want a love
that is not careful with me.

i did not come this far
to be handled.

i came
to be wanted.

fully.
desperately.
without apology.

i want a love
that frightens us both

and neither of us runs.

i want
devastating love.

the kind
that alters
your internal climate.

the kind
that makes your name
sound different

when spoken
by the right mouth.

the kind
that frightens both people equally

because neither
can control
what is happening.

and people call that dangerous.

maybe it is.

but i think
what terrifies people most

is not
losing themselves.

it is being
fully seen

and loved anyway.

some people
stay married for decades

and remain
emotionally untouched.

they know
what it means

to wake beside
the same body for years

yet never feel
fully chosen inside it.

they know
what it means

to be loved responsibly,

but never
devastatingly.

and maybe
that sounds ungrateful
to people
who have never lived it,

but there is
a difference.

a terrible difference.

some loves
feed the life.

others
awaken it.

that kind of love
requires surrender
from both sides.

not submission.
not weakness.
not abandonment of self.

mutual exposure.

two people
standing emotionally barefoot
in front of one another
saying,

“there is no performance left now.

only you.
only me.”

and maybe
that is why
so many people

almost touch
devastating love

but retreat
before it arrives.

because manageable love
lets you remain intact.

devastating love
leaves fingerprints
on the soul.

and once touched by it,

you can no longer return

to being
emotionally untouched furniture,

arranged
but not alive,

in the middle
of your own life.

sometimes
i wonder

how many times
i have crossed paths with it

without ever recognizing
what was in front of me.

if maybe somewhere,

in a bookstore,
on a sidewalk,
inside a crowded café,

someone once looked at me

with the beginning
of surrender in their eyes

and i turned away
too quickly
to notice.

maybe the cruelest thing
about love

is not rejection.

maybe the cruelest thing

is how often
it exists silently.

imagine sitting
in a room

unaware
that someone there

has already memorized your laugh.
has imagined a future with you.
has rehearsed courage
a thousand times

and still cannot cross
the distance

between silence
and confession.

and just like doppelgängers,

they are everywhere.

others are out there too —
carrying tenderness for you

while discussing weather,
paying bills,
stirring cream into coffee,

pretending their heartbeats
are behaving normally.

imagine being
deeply loved

and not knowing it.

that thought devastates me
more than loneliness
ever could.

because what if
the love you have searched for

has brushed past you
ten times already

terrified,
human,
silent

waiting
for one moment

of mutual surrender.

and what if
devastating love

was always meant
to be…

“set me as a seal upon thine heart,
as a seal upon thine arm:
for love is strong as death;
jealousy is cruel as the grave:
the coals thereof are coals of fire,
which hath a most vehement flame.

many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it.”

— song of solomon 8:6-7