Yes, It Was Real — But So Am I

Jul 9

The way you took me —

with hunger that bordered on holy —

yes, that was real.

The pulse under my skin when your chaos kissed my spine —

the softness after, the slow worship —

yes, that was real.

I won’t rewrite it as something less than it was.

I won’t cheapen it to a mistake.

I won’t bleach it out like a stain.

It mattered.

It was alive.

It was the kind of sex that turns the body into a church.

But here’s what’s more real:

I’m still here.

I still hold the keys to my temple.

I can still choose who kneels at its altar.

Your fire didn’t make me.

Your wreckage didn’t break me.

The part that was real lives on —

in me.

Not in you.

And if one day your ghost comes knocking —

I’ll remember:

I can honor the heat

without relighting the flame.

— GORGEOUS. COMPLEX. MESS.

The Man That Never Did