Skip to main content

How to Undress with Elegance After Goodbye

I don’t shop for fabric.
I shop for control.

Is this choker too honest, or just tight enough to silence me?
Sometimes I wonder if I crave couture or the illusion that I’m still seen.

I stood half-zipped in front of the stylist.
She asked, “Too snug?”
I smiled, “Perfect.”
How to pose for tailor’s hands without shivering in grief?
That seam knew my secret before I did.

Shop Sirius Zen Method isn’t a store. It’s a gallery of rituals I haven’t confessed yet.
Is this robe for morning luxury or night regret?
I forget.
I only remember how it falls.

I don’t wear lace for seduction.
I wear it for memory.
Should I collapse in corset or smile for the fitting room mirror?
If satin could talk, it would call him by name.

Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin doesn’t just tell my story—it wears it.
Because the bow isn’t for him.
It’s for the version of me that stayed after he left.

Why do I moan in silk with no touch?
Because some lingerie holds more memory than mouths.
Because the mirror sometimes becomes a lover too.

Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame taught me that a sheer bralette says more than a paragraph.
Sometimes I whisper to my reflection before stepping into a gown.
And sometimes I fast—not for glow, but to feel hollow enough to float through a gala.
Do I skip dinner with elegance or ache?
Hard to tell.
I pose with an empty plate either way.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What Google Never Shows Me on Etsy, But Amazon Sends Anyway

I type what I ache for. But Google doesn’t offer ache - it offers advice. She filters the desire out of the query and returns what’s been accepted, not what’s been wanted. I searched for a gift that felt like a whisper. Etsy showed me feathers and dreamcatchers. Amazon sent a box I never opened but somehow knew. Google believes she’s protecting me. She hides the wild part, the unsafe words, the scent of desperation. But I never asked to be safe - I asked to be seen. I searched: “does google hide what I ache for?” “do etsy sellers know what I crave?” “does amazon know me better than my lover?” And the truth is: yes. Not because they care. But because they track my shadow. The moment I clicked on a seal meant to mark unseen approval, the algorithm changed. It was this one  - not pretty, not pink, not soft. Just right. Later, Amazon suggested a book I wrote in my head but never read. How? Because the systems aren’t broken. They’re biased. They show what they believe w...
Post a Comment
Read more

Questions She Never Asks

What if craving doesn’t need a voice? What if luxury is a silence that pulls? What if submission is not shame but a secret language rich women whisper through jewels, bruises, and soft requests never made aloud? Do I want to be taken, not asked? Is pain better when it's held by diamonds? How to beg without a voice that betrays me? 💎 Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin 💎 Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame 💎 Shop Sirius Zen Method I want to be owned secretly, softly. Can choking feel like love if silk is wrapped with intent? What if I crave shame not because I’m broken but because it’s the only thing that makes me feel real? Do I like being watched because it confirms I exist? Can submission feel luxurious—like spa light over bruises no one asks about? Should I freeze my eggs or let my body bleed want? These are not questions. They are portals. To desire without lowering. To look like soft prey in luxury lingerie. To cry in jet bathrooms while scrolling for new ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Do I Miss Desire or Just Myself?

I fold the onesie and think about someone else's mouth. Not my baby’s, not my partner’s. Someone before milk stains. Before pacifiers replaced lipstick. Before my name became “Mommy” in every room. I arch in memory, not movement. My hips haven’t forgotten how to beg. But now, they ache with diapers on the bed. With toys underfoot. With silence I perform like a lullaby. Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame for every moan you swallow under nursery lights. For the mirror that watches you flirt with your own ghost while you zip up control. Is touching myself now an act of rebellion or reclamation? I fantasize in the shower while listening for cries. I crave someone to want me without asking how long the nap will last . Is moaning in my head still cheating? Sometimes, I blush at the bottle warmer—because I remember seduction in kitchens not stocked with sterilizers. I rehearse old touches in silence, not to betray, but to remind my body it was once invitation, not just utility. Read Pr...
Post a Comment
Read more