Whispers of the Unseen: Embracing the Mystery of Newfound Intimacy

“Some arrivals don’t knock—they bloom inside you.” —Elowen

Who are you?

Not the one I’ve known—the one who mapped galaxies across my skin and called it devotion.
Your touch doesn't blaze. It lingers.

I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t wait for it. But here you are—
threaded into my sheets, humming between our pauses,
pressing against the places I thought were mine alone.

Hello, Love. Your hands don’t rush. They remember.
They move like you’ve been here before,
like you knew my shape before I knew to offer it.

When did you slip into the room?
When did our duet become a trio,
with you breathing through us like flame wrapped in fog?

You arrived unseen. Unannounced. And yet—

As I writhed in linen’s hush, you leapt into our play.
Not as voyeur, but as invocation.
You wove yourself into the folds of pleasure,
amplifying every gasp, every tremble.
You made the moment holy.

But why now? Why here?

What summoned you from the silence?
You, who were never asked for, yet feel like prophecy.
You’ve left imprints—exhilarating, indelible—on my consciousness.
And now I’m left with questions that taste like honey and ache.

Why choose this moment to appear?

@notesformysoulmate

This work is protected—not to hush the ache,
but to honor the intimacy it unearthed.
Because even the uninvited deserve to be written into myth.
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