Reflection no.2

(a love letter) coalesce into my embrace, a sanctuary beguiled with deliberate tenderness where my voice drips the cadence of refuge and my presence a mask of absolution. I cultivate you carefully. praise administered in calibrated doses, each compliment an irrigating clause nourishing the fragile botany of your pride. observe how magnificently it flourishes beneath my attentive horticulture. how your confidence unfurls toward the artificial sun of my approval. but I am not a gardener of growth, I am a curator of proportion. and should your pride trespass its prescribed perimeter, should admiration metastasize into autonomy, I will prune. ruthlessly, with the quiet exactitude of a patient anatomist. the abrupt withdrawal of warmth decimating the luxuriant canopy I cultivated as you recede into skeletal humility. symmetry, for what is nurtured must also diminish until nothing remains. a perfectly obedient silhouette bending toward the hand that first taught it how to grow. fuck you.