Divine Catalyst, Divine Peace

We were just kids
but the way you looked at me
didn’t feel like teenage love.
It felt eternal.
You sang Pretty Brown Eyes
like you meant every word.
That song etched itself into my memory
for decades to come.

I still remember the dugout,
our stolen seconds,
how the world faded
every time you hugged me.
I felt seen.
I felt chosen.
But I was scared to be known.

I didn’t tell you everything.
I held things back.
And when others came between us,
craving the light we found in each other,
I let them.
They pulled me away
not just from you
but from the version of me
that only existed with you.

And I’m sorry.
For my silence.
For the secrets.
For choosing someone you knew,
thinking I was protecting myself
but only wounding you.
You didn’t deserve that.
You deserved truth.
And I didn’t know how to give it.

You were always the unfinished chapter

I never let the world read.

So I buried you in silence,

left a crack for breath

but never dared to open it.

I didn’t speak your name,

only dropped quiet hints,

praying you’d see

what I was too afraid to say.

I wonder sometimes,
what life would’ve been
if I had made it to you
In college
if I had chosen freedom
before I even knew
what I needed freeing from.

Would we have found each other sooner?
Or would the fire have burned too wild,
too fast,
without the pain to temper it?

Because you,
you are my divine catalyst
the spark that set my soul on fire,
the mirror that made me see
the truth beneath my survival.

And me
I am your divine peace.
The quiet in your chaos,
the softness you crave
when the world forgets to be kind.

And in my presence,
you laugh
the real kind.
The boy in you comes alive again.
You joke,
you breathe like the world isn’t watching.
With me, you're free.
No masks, no roles

just rest.

You come in seasons,
like a storm that knows its way home.
Each time,
you arrive when I’m locked in love that feels like prison,
not sanctuary.
And each time,
I remember what it means to feel safe
just by being seen.

We don’t argue
we listen.
We don’t break each other
we hold space.

Your silence speaks volumes,
your presence rewrites chapters
I thought were closed.

I know what this is.
I know what you are.

You make me feel feminine
not because you expect me to be soft,
but because you give me the room
to stop being hard.

There was a townhome by the shore,
the beach quiet, untouched
its sand still waiting for your footprints,
its tide unbothered by your breath.
The waves had whispered your name,
but you never answered.
Not then.
Because something was missing.
Not the ocean.
Not the view.
But the rhythm of my walk beside you,
my laughter rising with the wind,
your fingers tracing the curve of me
like the sea traced the edge of the earth
familiar, sacred, yours.

That beach wasn’t ready.
Not without me.
Not without us.
Not without the moment we were meant to arrive.

And if one day we find ourselves
walking the shoreline,
with The Waves playing my favorite song
I hope you reach for me,
fingers slipping around my butt,
gripping my curves,
not caring who sees,
just grinning like the world finally got something right.
I’ll melt into the rhythm,
into the tide,
into you.

Or if you ever find yourself
in some hotel conference room,
dressed in the weight of a long day,
know that I’ll be upstairs
waiting in silence and soft light
no panties,
ready to be your peace,
your release,
your reminder that home can be a person too.

A rooftop or a quiet balcony,
city skyline flickering,
the sky cracked open just enough
to let the stars eavesdrop.
Kind of Blue hums in the background,
not loud, just present.
The trumpet floats through the night air
like something sacred,
like something meant for us.

You sit back, shoulders softening,

as the weight of the day melting beneath my hands
And Miles,
he leads you through the silence.
Each note a gentle reminder
to stay,
to feel,
to just be.

That’s the kind of peace
I want you to know.
That rooftop stillness,
that slow jazz ache,
that moment where nothing is missing
except maybe me,
wrapped in the music,
wrapped in you.

Twenty-four years,
a hundred lives,
and still, it’s you.

Still, it’s your long arms wrapped around me that say,

‘I got you’, without a single word
Still the love that makes
everything else
feel like shadow.

I love that your hands wander where your heart still aches,
grasping for what won’t release.
You finish to the echo of my climax,
the way I throw it back at you
a vision etched in fire and rhythm.
Your favorite view.

So when your thoughts drift,
and your hands search for what the world can’t give
close your eyes.

Crave me in silence with your hands,
not just to come,
but to come home.

So do it

without shame,
And think of me.
Feel the hush between my thighs,
warmth glistening,
a slow ache waiting
just for you.

Imagine my softness,
wet and welcoming,
a balm to your unrest.
Let it soothe the fire in your chest,
the weight in your shoulders,
the ache you carry alone.

Let my memory slide
between your fingers like warm silk,
a slow rhythm of release
that doesn’t just satisfy
it steadies.

This isn’t just your body reaching.
It’s your soul crawling home.

So let yourself come undone,
not from lust
but longing.
Not just to finish
but to feel
what only I ever gave you:
peace.

Let your hands remember
the map only you could read
the curve of my back,
the places where your name still echoes in my skin.

The ripple of my curves echoes back to you
when I throw it back,
a silent vibration
you feel deep in your chest
as I arch my back and offer
your favorite view
the one that lives
in memory and desire.

Let the tremble of your release
be a hymn
to everything unfinished.

At times, a thought lingers
of what it might mean
to be the vessel
of something timeless
a name whispered into the future,
not by chance,
but by something sacred.

And I know you think it too.

But then the veil lifts,
and I return to the moment
feet grounded,
heart steady.

This isn’t a pitch for love.
Not a plea,
not a plan,
not some twisted fairytale ending.

It’s just truth,
unfolded and unhidden.
A release.
A reverent offering.

We are not meant to be together
not in this life,
not with these rules.

Some dreams
were only meant
to live in the hush
between heartbeats.
Not in this lifetime.
Not like this.

And maybe we don’t get the timeline we want.
Maybe we’re still just characters
in a story God is editing.
But I know this:
Whatever this is
it’s not wrong.
It’s real.
It’s rare.
It’s written.

And if we’re just stars waiting to align,
then I’ll be your peace
until the universe says go.

So when life feels heavy,
when work is loud,
when home is harder than it should be,
when the anxiety creeps in,
or the ADD spins you into overdrive
don’t reach for the bottle first.

Read this.

Let my words be your stillness.
Let them hold you like I would
wrapped in calm,
grounded in truth,
rooted in love.

And if you do pour a glass,
make a quiet toast to us
to the rhythm we never lost.

Let these words be the reminder:
You are not alone.
You are seen.
You are needed.
You are loved in ways that reach beyond the world’s rules.

Thank you for being my divine catalyst.
Thank you for showing me real love.

I’m always here, quietly, softly, endlessly.
No matter what.

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