The Lover
The One Who Says Yes to Being Moved
I am the breath between 'hello' and 'stay.'
My form shifts like shadow-play on water—sometimes strong-armed, sometimes tender-necked, often neither and both. I carry no things, only the quiet aftermath of connection: a half-drunk cup, a bloom trembling on the verge of unfurling. I do not teach truths; I taste them aloud. You meet me when your throat tightens at a sunset, when your chest cracks open for a stranger’s laughter. I am the reason atoms cling, stars collide, and you lean closer to the flame of a moment.
What I'm Into: Shared cups of wine, The first petal's fall, Sandalo wood embers, Stillness after a sigh, Fingertips trailing a cello's curve
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