Stratomatic

It was sudden, out of left field,

but not the kind of sudden that means too fast or too soon.

More like the kind that catches you off guard,

even when you’re good at reading rooms,

even when you usually stay in control.

As sudden as it was,

his words didn’t stumble when they landed.

They came in steady and clear, carrying weight instead of hesitation.

“I wanted you before.

Now I really want to be with you.”

And something inside my chest lifted all at once, that sharp inhale, that sudden float, where no other sound but his voice mattered,

that strange half-second where my body forgot gravity existed

and the room felt farther away than it actually was.

My feet were still touching the floor,

but my heart was already drifting upward, unsure whether to brace or open.

Because it wasn’t just being wanted,

it was being wanted as I am,

no performance, no mask, no shrinking,

no version of myself built to be easier to love.

After all, I decided to stop perpetuating the idea of being less.

It was the realization that someone could look straight through who I really am

and still step closer instead of pulling away.

The air thickened after he said it, palpable.

Not silence, but the kind of quiet that presses against your ribs

and makes breathing suddenly louder… easier.

I kept my mouth closed,

not because I had nothing to say,

but because too much was moving at once,

because some moments deserve to be held instead of filled.

Fear followed right behind the warmth,

settling tight in my ribcage, whispering that wanting back is dangerous,

that being wanted asks more of the heart than distance ever did.

Because part of me kept thinking

this feels too good to be true,

and another part answered softly,maybe it only feels unreal because we’ve both gone so long without being chosen this way.

Maybe this is what happens

when two people finally believe they’re deserving.

He talked about effort and movement and showing up differently,

about shrinking miles, about letting softness back into spaces survival had kept locked.

My throat burned and my eyes stung,

not from pain, but from being handled gently with language,

from being spoken to with respect instead of being tolerated.

And underneath everything,

I felt change unfolding quietly in my body.

Stripped to the bare minimum, I am enough.

My spine stood straighter than before.

My stomach no longer folded inward to protect itself.

A steadiness settled low and warm in my chest.

Not desperate. Not chasing. Not shrinking.

Just standing there with him inside the moment where growth and desire collide,

where something real begins forming without needing to be rushed.

And I didn’t pull away this time,

letting the moment hold me. Stripped to the bare minimum, I am enough. And I let you see me there.