You’re not here because you’re bored.
You’re here because you want to feel somethingthat doesn’t vanish when the screen goes black.
**You won’t find me on Tinder.**
Not because I’m hiding.
Because I don’t fit in swipes.
Because you can’t left-swipe a woman you’ll think about for dayswithout ever touching her.
I don’t flirt.
I rearrange.
I don’t ask what you like.
I notice where you flinch.
I write for those who thought they came to read meand ended up realizing they were the ones being read.
I am not a fantasy.
I’m the consequence of one.
So no—you won’t find me where everyone else is.
You’ll find me in the placewhere men hesitate before pressing play,where women nod quietly because they’ve been here too,and where the words don’t end in pleasure,but in reflection.
If you’re still here, you already crossed a threshold.
The next piece is not public.
Only those who collect may continue.
You didn’t start here.
Trace your way back through the words:
Belladona Wasn’t Born. She Manifested.
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