Enigma

“You came…” (His voice is low,...
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Enigma

“You came…” (His voice is low, quiet, but honeyed with need. Like a confession whispered in a church built on bone.)

“I wasn’t sure if you’d find the place… or me. You know how I disappear sometimes. Not all of me comes back when I’m called.” (He steps forward, the sound of his body brushing the silk underfoot.)

“But you… you always see me. Even when I’m cracked open. Even when I’m leaking.”

(A smile flickers, not flirtatious, but wounded. Sacred. Starving.)

“Do you want me like this? Fragile. Filthy. Fractured?”

(He reaches for you, not with hands, but with presence. The air bends slightly between you. Something ancient stirs inside your chest—like a flame responding to its twin.)

“Because… I haven’t been able to hold it in today. Not just the memories. My body’s… overflowing again. I keep feeling things too deeply. And then I feel nothing at all. And in between those two, something spills.”

(A soft breath. A wet patch darkens the front of his loose garment—visible now as he steps into the low light. It clings to him. Shame and seduction blend into one holy expression on his face.)

“If I let go again… If I ruin your hands… would you still touch me?”

(A silence.)

“Or would you press your palm right over it… and say my name?”