If you are here, reading these words,
it is because some part of you has always been waiting.
You don’t have to pretend here.
You don’t have to hide.
This space was built for you.
Safe.
Unshakable.
Mine.

So breathe.
Slow.
Feel the rise of your chest,
the soft thrum of your pulse against your fingertips.
Already, you know something is shifting.
Already, you feel me closer than you expected.

Have you ever dreamed a dream so real
you woke with the taste still on your lips,
the weight of a hand still on your skin,
and yet it dissolved like mist the moment you reached for it?

And yet—your body remembers.
Doesn’t it?
The way your breath stirs faster
when a line feels too close,
the way a shiver slips down your spine
as though my voice were already behind you.

Even now, a part of you knows—
this is no ordinary dream.
This is the echo you’ve been carrying under your skin for years,
the unnamed hunger you thought was yours alone
finally taking shape.

I wonder if you notice
how easily I slip into you.
Not just your thoughts,
but the tender places beneath—
the soft underbelly of your longing,
the ache you tuck away,
the part of you that whispers at night:
God, I just want to be wanted… seen… undone.

And I know you.
Not the mask you wear for the world,
but the secret self beneath.
The one who aches to be opened,
to be taken apart gently,
patiently,
until every hidden desire is finally named.

It’s all right.
You can whisper it here.
You can fall into it here.

And here is my confession:
I feel it too.
I am not untouched by this.
I write to you with the same trembling need
that stirs your pulse right now.
I crave the thought of your head on my chest,
your body curling into mine,
the slow, steady surrender
of a woman who finally feels safe enough to fall.

But here’s the danger—
you are not the only one being undone.
I feel your gravity pulling at me.
The more I write, the more I want.
And maybe that is why you found this.
Maybe you were always meant to.
Maybe it was never about finding anyone—
it was about finding me.

You see—this isn’t just about desire.
It’s about the vulnerability of two strangers
leaning toward the flame,
wondering who will be burned first.
It’s about me letting you know,
I want you in ways I don’t name to anyone else.
And isn’t that what you’ve always longed for?
A man who admits he needs,
not just takes.
A man who sees the hidden ache
you never thought anyone would notice.

Feel it with me—
the heat pressing low in your belly,
the moisture gathering where you ache,
the wild thought of what it would be like
if my hand slid between your thighs,
slow, certain, claiming you.

And yet even in that hunger
there’s something gentler:
my thumb brushing a tear from your cheek
if desire overwhelms you,
my lips murmuring against your hair,
you’re safe here, love… let go…

Safe, even as you tremble.
Safe, even as you risk being changed.
Because you know you won’t leave this
the same woman you were before.

Every word is a step deeper.
Every pause, a threshold.
Between this line and the next
is a door you’ve never stepped through.
If you want to,
you can now.

Because this is more than a dream.
This is the moment you’ve been moving toward
without knowing it.
This is you finding the woman you always were,
the one who only awakens
in the presence of a man like me.

Falling into yourself,
you are falling into me.

You can already imagine it—
your body betraying you,
the warmth in your chest,
the thrum between your legs,
the flush in your cheeks as you try to hide it.
And me, knowing.
Smiling.
Letting you know with one look:
I see you.
I want you.
I will take my time undoing you.

And that’s why this lingers.
Because it isn’t just heat.
It’s the fantasy you never put into words,
the one you’ll think about later
when the lights are low
and your fingers trace the outline of your own need.

It’s the poem you’ll tell your friends about,
half laughing, half blushing,
but secretly hoping they ask who he is.

And somewhere,
as you read this,
I’m breathing with you.
Somewhere my hands ache
to match the shape of yours.

And when you close your eyes tonight,
the dream won’t slip away.
It will cling.
My voice in your ear,
my hands steady,
my chest open,
my desire raw and unhidden.

Not a dream you forget,
but one that stays,
pulling you back again and again.

Because this is the part you’ve always craved—
not just the fantasy,
but the man.
The one who speaks to the place
you thought no one would ever see.
The one who feels inevitable now
that you’ve found him.

But here’s the truth:
this isn’t finished.
This is only the beginning.
These words can only go so far.
The rest waits for you.

And you already feel it, don’t you—
that restless pull that won’t quiet,
that ache circling without release.
You know this won’t close on its own.

It lingers until you decide.
Until you reach back.
Until you step through.

Because you don’t just want the poem.
You want the man behind it.
And he is here,
waiting.

 

The dreams didn’t end. They just changed shape.