Confessions of a libra

Resonance | Credit: Here

11.06.25

You know it’s bad when you’re in love with a man you never met. It’s worse because he gave you a taste. He reaches you in only the deepest, darkest molecules in your cells. He, in his steady, cool demeanour. The passion inked on his skin speaks of journeys and armour. Contrasted by the kind of heart that raves about his dog, without an ounce of performance. The way he spoke to you back then about music and…Dr Pepper? It was cheeky, it was flirty, but it flowed with delicate ease.

I recall myself, picturing our timeline. He roused my psychic senses with such a force. His attentions felt like the sun gracing my petals. He was perfectly masculine in a way that roused trust in my feminine body. Yet he spoke with the tongue of a poet and the respect of an equal intellectual. There was something about him that defied society so blatantly it made me want to combust. But then, he went away. Under the cover of storm clouds, he slunk away like the crab he is. Now he lives in me like a precious secret. Buried in my treasure trove. His imagined touch. His imagined laughs that burst forth because I only I knew how to turn the right key. He’ll never know how much I think he has a blessed smile. Underneath the mask, is a man blazing forward to live differently than his forefathers. A man of worth, a man of restraint and a man unafraid to own his mistakes in the public eye.

When I look at him my body viscerally accepts the beauty before me. Everything from his arms to his shoulders to his chest. This man – my man – is built for only my eyes, for all I see is perfection. I crave the realities my mind dreams up. The timelines, the intentions and the sex magick we haven’t even attempted yet. He is the whisper in my soul when I’m groggy and gaining awareness. He is the siren song luring me to a happy death. Death by dreams. Death by excruciating need. Death by probability. His art buzzes softly beneath the surface beaconing me but I wait until he shows me. I want to experience him in that unadulterated way that would make his supporters gag. I want him to explore my body through my mind. I want those hands firmly, gently holding me to account. For now, I yearn respectfully. For now I fulfil my mission, until he is inevitably – mine.