Communication is not just speaking. It is learning how to hold another person's mind, heart and dignity while you tell them the truth.

We always say communication is key. But communication is an art.

Sio stuff unafanya tu shaghalabala because you can. Aaaahhh watu wana bore eeewww!

I've come to realise that people don't necessarily know how to communicate simply because they are communicating.

Someone can talk to you for an hour and still never actually communicate what they are trying to say.

Someone can tell you exactly how they feel and still leave you feeling deliberately wounded.

Because communication is not just about getting the words out. It is about creating understanding.

I know there is a difference between someone who wants me to understand where they are coming from and someone who wants their words to hurt me. I can usually feel the difference.

And I've learned not to give either one more power than it deserves.Words are words until I give them meaning.

I can listen to what someone has said without allowing their choice of words to determine how I see myself. I can acknowledge that something was cruel without becoming cruel to myself in response.

So I remain grounded.

All rainbow and sunshine, sometimes, because people's habits don't have to become my emotional environment.

But this has also made me think deeply about what communication actually requires.

I don't think healthy communication is simply honesty. Because you can be honest and be careless. You can be truthful and be cruel. You can have a legitimate grievance and still communicate it in a way that humiliates the person you're speaking to. The art is in the delivery.

When you love someone, you don't suddenly lose your ability to see them as a human being simply because something they did has annoyed, disappointed or hurt you.

You can be angry and still be gentle. You can be disappointed and still be respectful. You can say, "This really hurt me," without making the other person feel like their entire existence is the problem.

And I think this is where timing matters.

Sometimes I want to talk about something, but I don't know whether the other person has the capacity to receive it at that particular moment.

So I ask.

"Can I tell you something serious?" "Are you in the right mental space to talk about this?"

"I want to talk about something that has been bothering me. Do you want to talk about it now?"

And if they say no, I don't want them to feel punished for saying no.

We can talk later. Because asking someone if they are ready for a difficult conversation should not be a trap. It should actually mean something.

I am not asking so that I can later say, "Fine, don't talk to me then."

I'm asking because I want you to be present when we have this conversation. I want you to hear me. And I want to hear you too.

That, to me, is communication.

It is respecting someone's mind space enough to knock before entering. Because we are out here abusing people's mind space.

We drop bombshells in the middle of someone's day without asking whether they have the capacity to process what we're about to tell them.

We send paragraphs when a conversation is needed. We throw words around because we are angry, then hide behind the excuse of, "But I was just being honest."

No.

Honesty does not absolve you from responsibility. If something is important enough to potentially damage the bond between us, then surely it is important enough to deserve some care.

Sometimes the most courteous thing you can do is wait until the evening and call.

"Hey. Something has been on my mind. Do you have the capacity to talk about it?"

That doesn't make the conversation less serious. It makes it more intentional.

Friendships have taught me this in particularly painful ways.

Sometimes someone fundamentally doesn't like you anymore as their friend, and when they finally have something to say, they mishandle you completely.

And I always find myself wondering:

Why the fuck are you guys friends if basic human decency during a difficult conversation has you tearing each other apart?

Why does disagreement suddenly mean I have to become your enemy? Why does disappointment erase every good thing that existed between us?

You can decide that a friendship no longer works for you without rewriting the entire history of the friendship.

And relationships are no different.

I remember walking away from a relationship once and being told things that made me genuinely wonder whether that person had ever loved me to begin with.

Because what do you mean you can say this to me? Just yesterday you called me "mama." And now that we're no longer together, suddenly you know exactly where to place the knife?

That experience taught me something uncomfortable.

Sometimes people love you, but they haven't learned how to communicate love.

Sometimes people care about you but have never developed the emotional skills required to handle conflict with care.

And sometimes, unfortunately, people know exactly what they are doing.

The point is, the words alone don't tell you everything. The way someone handles you when they are angry tells you something.

The way someone approaches you when they are disappointed tells you something. The way someone creates space for your response tells you something.

The way someone listens after they've spoken tells you something. The art of communication becomes easier when you have experienced healthy communication yourself.

When someone has sat you down gently. When someone has said, "I don't like what happened, but I still respect you."

When someone has given you time to process. When someone has allowed you to say, "I'm not ready to talk about this yet," without making that refusal a crime.

When someone has made you feel safe enough to tell the truth. You learn that difficult conversations don't have to feel like war. You learn that conflict doesn't require cruelty. You learn that boundaries don't require humiliation. You learn that honesty and tenderness can exist in the same sentence.

And perhaps that is the part people miss when they say communication is key. Communication is not merely speaking. It is listening. It is timing. It is attention. It is patience. It is emotional responsibility.

It is knowing that there is another human being on the receiving end of your words.

It is giving them enough dignity to process what you've said before demanding a response.

It is understanding that your feelings are valid without assuming that your method of expressing them automatically is.

You don't have to walk on eggshells around people. You don't have to make yourself small. You don't have to swallow difficult truths to keep someone comfortable.

But you can tell the truth without trying to destroy the person receiving it.

That is the art. Because communication is not: "I said what I said."

Communication is, "I said what I needed to say, and I cared enough about you to make sure you understood where I was coming from."

And there is a world of difference between the two.

Yours Narangiiiii

Some experiences don't belong to the person who lived them alone. Sometimes, they leave an echo in everyone who happened to be standing nearby.

I had gone to visit my girlfriend at her hostel.

We were catching up, talking about nothing particularly important, settling into that comfortable kind of company where you don't have to be doing anything extraordinary to enjoy being together.

Then we heard a baby crying( or so I thought) Loudly. I looked at her.

“Are you allowed babies in the hostels?”

She laughed and said no. Then I listened again. The sound was coming from somewhere near the toilets, not from a particular room.

“Go check,” I told her. “It won't hurt to check.”

She left the room. I stayed behind. Then I heard her shout. I opened the door.

She was walking back toward me, and I knew immediately from her face that something was wrong.

Behind her, another girl came running out of the toilet. Terrified.

She was carrying something I still don't quite know how to describe without reducing the enormity of what had happened to a few words.

I remember the crying. I remember my girlfriend's face. I remember the girl running.

And I remember thinking, “I wish I had never told her to go and check.”

Because sometimes you can send someone toward something without knowing what they are about to see.

My girlfriend lay on the bed. She was visibly shaken.I held her.

I didn't ask her what she had seen. I didn't make her explain. There are moments when questions are not care. Sometimes care is simply staying.

So I stayed.

Then there was a knock at the door. My girlfriend got up to open it. I stood behind her.

There was a girl standing outside.

“Did Sharon see?”

For a second, my mind went completely blank. See what? Of course, I knew.

But I didn't want to make the situation worse.

My girlfriend simply said, “No.” Then she reassured her that whatever had happened would remain a secret.

The door closed. And for a moment, there was nothing but silence. I had seen the girl earlier. She was a first-year student then.

And I remember looking into her eyes. She looked terrified. Not evil. Not careless. Not like the monster that society can sometimes make a young woman feel like when she finds herself in circumstances she never imagined she would be in.

Just terrified.

Her voice carried the evidence of someone who had been crying. And suddenly, I wasn't thinking about the event itself.

I was thinking about the girl.

I wondered how long she had been carrying that fear. How long she had been afraid. Whether she had been alone. Whether she had been praying. Whether she had been crying quietly so nobody would hear. Whether she had been afraid of disappointing the people who loved her.

Whether she had been afraid of God.

Whether she had been afraid of what people would say. Whether she had been afraid of herself. I wondered about the psychological weight of having to make an intensely personal decision while knowing that the world may have already decided what kind of person you are supposed to be for making it.

And I thought about how complicated trauma can be.

We often talk about the physical consequences of reproductive experiences. We talk about pregnancy. We talk about childbirth. We talk about prevention. We talk about morality. We talk about whether someone was right or wrong.

But we don't always talk about what happens emotionally.

The fear. The secrecy. The anxiety. The grief that some people may experience. The relief that others may experience.

The guilt. The conflict between what you believe and what you have done. The fear of being discovered. The loneliness of carrying something enormous while pretending that everything is normal.

And perhaps most importantly, we don't talk enough about how differently people experience the aftermath.

There is no single emotional script.

One person may feel relief. Another may feel sadness. Another may feel both at the same time. Someone may feel nothing immediately and everything months later. Someone may never regret their decision and still remember the experience painfully.

Someone may hold complicated feelings because their circumstances, beliefs, relationships and hopes were complicated.

Human beings are complicated.

That girl didn't become a bad person because I saw her that day. She became, in my eyes, a human being who had probably been very afraid.

And that is what stayed with me. Not a political argument. Not a moral verdict.

A girl. A secret. A frightened face. And a sound coming from behind a bathroom door.

I also came away thinking about something much simpler:

We need to talk more honestly about prevention.

Because sometimes people don't understand how much anxiety can come from something that begins with a moment of intimacy.

Sex is not only about the moment itself. There can be consequences afterwards. Pregnancy is one of them. And contraception, including condoms, is not an admission that you are immoral, promiscuous, or untrusting of your partner.

Sometimes it is simply responsibility. Sometimes it is two people saying, “We are not ready for this.”

We don't want to live through this particular fear. We want to protect ourselves and each other. And that conversation should be normal.

Not shameful. Not awkward.

Normal.

Because prevention is often easier to discuss before panic enters the room.

I still think about that day. I don't know her story. I don't know what happened before she entered that bathroom. I don't know what happened afterwards. I don't know what she believed, what she feared, or what she felt when she finally walked away.

And perhaps I will never know. Maybe that is the lesson.

We rarely know the entire story behind what we see.

Sometimes what looks like a shocking event is the final visible chapter of a private battle that someone has been fighting for months. So before we judge the person behind the door, perhaps we should remember that there was a person behind it.

A frightened one. A human one. And perhaps the most compassionate thing we can do is create a world where people have access to accurate information, contraception, healthcare, and someone safe enough to talk to before fear turns into desperation.

Because some things should never have to be carried alone.

I was once a good girl.

And I don't mean good in the way people usually mean it. I don't mean kind. I don't mean compassionate. I don't mean loving.

I mean obedient.

I was the kind of good girl who did what people wanted. I reciprocated. I texted back on time. I showed up. I made myself available. I asked, “Am I doing okay?” I asked, “Are you proud of me?”

I looked at someone else's face to determine whether I was worthy of being proud of myself.

I needed approval. I needed to know I was on the good side of the story.

I had been indoctrinated into the doctrine of being a good girl so thoroughly that I didn't even realize I was living by it.

Be agreeable. Be useful. Be understanding. Don't ask for too much. Don't make them uncomfortable. Don't be difficult. Don't be angry. Don't abandon anyone. Don't make anyone feel unwanted. Don't make anyone feel like they're not someone's favorite.

And most importantly; Be good enough to be chosen.

Jesus fucking Christ. What a way to live. I spent years trying to be chosen. And when I think about it now, I understand why.

I don't remember always feeling explicitly chosen when I was younger. So somewhere along the way, I became obsessed with creating that feeling for other people.

If I loved you and you ever told me you felt like nobody's favorite, I would make damn sure you knew you were mine.

If you needed someone, I showed up. If you needed someone to listen, I listened. If you needed reassurance, I gave it. If you needed care, I cared.

If you needed someone to believe in you, I would become your biggest fucking believer.

Because I knew what it felt like to wonder whether anyone would choose you.

So I became determined that nobody I loved would have to wonder.

Do you understand how insane that is?

I was trying to heal my own wound by making sure everyone else felt chosen. And these motherfuckers didn't even see it. I would love someone like their mother. Like their sister. Like their best friend. Like their partner.

Sometimes all at once.

I would anticipate their needs. Remember things they forgot. Show up before they asked. Take care of things. Give gifts. Give money. Give time. Give access. Give patience. Give reassurance.

I paid bills for people I loved. I paid rent, for fucks sake!!!

I bought clothes. I bought books. I lent out my laptop. And if I'd had enough money at the time, I probably would have bought the motherfucker their own laptop too.

Because that was how I loved. I gave.

And I kept thinking that eventually somebody would look at everything I was giving and understand; Look at how much she loves me. But sometimes people don't look.

Sometimes you can put your entire heart on the table and somebody will look directly at it and still ask what else you brought.

That was when I learned something brutal. My love was never supposed to be an audition. I wasn't supposed to perform generosity until someone decided I was worthy. I wasn't supposed to pay my way into someone's heart. I wasn't supposed to become indispensable so that someone would be afraid to lose me.

I wasn't supposed to be the perfect girlfriend, the understanding friend, the endlessly available person, just so nobody could say I wasn't good enough.

And I certainly wasn't supposed to mother grown-ass adults !!!!

I am not your mother. I am not your emotional regulation system. I am not your therapist. I am not your parent.

If you are emotionally dysregulated, that is something you need to learn to manage. I can love you. I can support you. I can sit beside you.

But I will not become your fucking nervous system.

I will not parentify myself inside a relationship because you refuse to parent yourself.

And I will not call self-abandonment love. That is where the good girl died.

Or maybe she didn't die. Maybe she finally grew teeth.

Because I became a bitch. And thank God I did.

Not the kind of bitch who enjoys hurting people. Not the kind of bitch who doesn't care. I'm a bitch in the best possible way.

I'm a bitch who knows she is allowed to say no. I'm a bitch who knows that access to me is a privilege, not a human right.

I'm a bitch who will not beg you to appreciate my presence. I'm a bitch who, when I realize my presence isn't valued, will give you exactly what you seem to want, my absence.

I'm a bitch who will not keep pouring water into your cup while you complain that the cup isn't full enough.

I'm a bitch who understands that respect is mutual. I'm a bitch who will withdraw my energy from places where it is continually disrespected.

I'm a bitch who has goals. I'm a bitch who has a life. I'm a bitch who can love you deeply and still leave you alone.

And perhaps the most important thing I've learned is this, I don't have to be useful to be worthy.

That one took me years.

Because when you have spent so long trying to be chosen, you start believing your usefulness is your currency.

What can I do for you? How can I help? How can I make your life easier? How can I make you happy? How can I prove that I deserve to stay?

Like a fucking customer care agent.

But now? Nah-uh. You don't get to make me prove my worth. I am worthy before I do anything for you. I am worthy before I buy you anything. I am worthy before I solve your problems. I am worthy before I make your life easier. I am worthy before I am productive. I am worthy before I am impressive. I am worthy before you choose me.

I am inherently deserving.

And if you love me, I shouldn't have to work myself into exhaustion to earn your attention. I shouldn't have to compete for something so basic as affection.

I shouldn't have to become the most useful person in your life to deserve tenderness. And here's the funniest fucking part:

I used to think that if I gave people enough love, they would finally understand how valuable I was.

Now I understand that the people who are capable of loving me don't need a demonstration. They will see me. They will meet me. They will reciprocate.

They will choose me because they want to, not because I submitted the world's most convincing application for the position.

And if you don't? Fine. I'll survive not being chosen by you. Because I choose me. That's the difference between the good girl I was and the bitch I am now.

The good girl asked: “Are you proud of me?”

The bitch asks: “Am I proud of myself?”

The good girl wondered: “What can I do so you won't leave?”

The bitch asks: “Why the fuck would I stay somewhere I have to beg to be valued?”

The good girl thought love meant giving until there was nothing left.

The bitch knows that love without self-respect is just self-abandonment wearing perfume.

The good girl thought being needed meant being loved. The bitch knows that someone can need you desperately and still fail to love you properly. The good girl was terrified of being difficult. The bitch understands that sometimes being difficult is simply what happens when you finally have boundaries.

And I am no longer afraid of being difficult. I am no longer afraid of disappointing people. I am no longer afraid that somebody will think I'm cold because I stopped overextending myself.

I am no longer afraid that somebody will leave because I told the truth.

Leave. Go. I have survived people leaving before. What I refuse to survive again is leaving myself so someone else will stay. That is the one abandonment I will never participate in again.

So yes. I am a bitch now. A recovered good girl. A woman who learned self-respect the hard way.

A woman who learned to focus on her goals because nobody was coming to save her from herself.

A woman who learned that her emotional energy is precious. A woman who learned that her attention is precious. Her tenderness is precious. Her loyalty is precious. Her generosity is precious.

Her love is fucking precious.

And when a recovered good girl gives you the softness she once locked away, understand what you're receiving. That softness isn't automatic. That tenderness isn't cheap. That devotion isn't something she hands to everybody. She had to learn how to protect it. So if she chooses to give it to you the good girl treatment she locked away, don't mistake it for weakness.

Don't make the mistake of thinking because she's being good to you, she has forgotten how to leave.

She hasn't. She knows exactly how and exactly when!

She simply decided that you were worth staying for. Don't make her regret that decision. Because I am no longer trying to earn anyone's love. I am no longer paying for it. I am no longer performing for it. I am no longer begging for it.

And I am certainly not going to convince someone to see what is already standing right in front of them.

If you cannot appreciate my presence, I will give you my absence. If you cannot respect my love, I will withdraw it. If you cannot reciprocate, I will stop overextending.

If you cannot see my worth, that is not my emergency.

And if you ever make me question whether I am worthy of love? I will remember exactly who I am. Because I am not worthy because I earned it.

I am worthy because I fucking exist.

And that is the doctrine I live by now.

Not the doctrine of being a good girl.

The doctrine of being mine. The doctrine of choosing myself. The doctrine of knowing when to stay and when to leave. The doctrine of loving without abandoning myself. The doctrine of giving without begging to be given back to. The doctrine of never again confusing obedience with goodness.

So yes. Call me a bitch. I'll take it.

After everything I have survived, everything I have learned, everything I have given, and everything I have finally understood; -

being a bitch who loves herself is the greatest thing that ever happened to this former good girl.

&

I think every woman should be a motherfucking bitch!

Narangi🌙

I think I first fell in love with you in 2022.

You arrived carrying a song I loved, and somehow that song became attached to a version of me I would eventually have to leave behind. Back then, Taylor Swift was my favorite musician, and August the song, was playing while something inside me was quietly coming undone.

It was August when I finally decided to leave a relationship that had become emotionally and financially imbalanced against me.

But if I am honest, I don't think I left because I suddenly stopped loving that person. I left because I finally understood that I had been trying to earn their love.

I had been giving and giving and giving, hoping that eventually my generosity would become evidence of my worth. I paid bills. I bought gifts. I showed up. I softened my words. I swallowed my pain. I tried to become easy to love.

I remember wanting so badly to be a good girl.

Just a good girl.

A girl who obeyed. A girl who didn't ask for too much. A girl who didn't make things difficult. A girl who could be grateful for whatever affection she received. A girl who wouldn't be too intelligent, too analytical, too perceptive, too much.

Because somewhere along the way, I had learned that being fully myself might make someone stop choosing me.

So I edited myself.

I became the version of myself I thought would be easiest to keep.

At some point, I even felt like I was a trophy girlfriend. And I thought that if I wanted to remain on that pedestal, I had to keep performing. I had to keep paying. Keep giving. Keep speaking nicely about them. Keep making them feel important. Keep holding my hurt inside.

I could make them feel like the universe while quietly making myself smaller inside their orbit.

And I was exhausted.

Because desperate giving does something strange to the heart. You stop giving because you want to give and start giving because you want to be chosen.

There is a difference.

I didn't just want to love this person.

I wanted my love to become undeniable evidence that they should love me back. I wanted them to look at everything I had done and finally say, How could I not choose her?

But they knew how I felt. And they still chose someone else.

That realization hurt because I wasn't asking them to choose between me and a relationship they were already in. I would never want to punish someone for loving someone else. If I found someone in a relationship and developed feelings for them, I would respect the relationship, respect their choice, and respect myself enough not to force my way into it.

But this was different. I had not found someone who was unavailable to me because they were committed elsewhere. I had found someone who simply did not choose me. And no amount of money, gifts, tenderness, obedience, patience, or self-erasure could change that.

That was the part I needed August to teach me.

Sometimes a person isn't yours because you failed to love them correctly. Sometimes they simply aren't yours.

And that doesn't mean you weren't worthy. It means love isn't a transaction.

I remember listening to August the song and feeling something inside me click into place. The song became a strange little mirror. It gave language to the feeling of having poured yourself into something that was never really yours to keep.

And suddenly I thought, Why am I trying this hard? Why am I auditioning for a role that was never being offered to me? Why am I spending so much of myself trying to convince someone that I am worthy of being loved?

I could leave. So I did. And August the month, became a canon event in my life. Every year, when you return, August, I remember that girl.

I remember how desperately she wanted to be loved. I remember how much she gave. I remember how badly she wanted to be good enough. And I want to reach back through time and hold her hand.

I want to tell her, You don't have to be the trophy. You don't have to be the easiest person in the room. You don't have to pay for someone's affection. You don't have to silence your intelligence. You don't have to make yourself smaller so someone can feel bigger.

You don't have to swallow your truth to keep someone beside you.

You don't have to perform goodness to deserve tenderness.

You don't have to earn love.Love is not a salary.

It is not a reward for good behavior. It is not something you accumulate points toward. You should not have to exhaust yourself to receive it.

The people who are meant to love you won't need you to submit an application first. They won't need you to prove that you're useful enough, pretty enough, agreeable enough, generous enough, quiet enough, or convenient enough.

You will simply exist. And they will love you there. That is what August means to me now. Not that I lost someone. Not even that I left a relationship. But that I found something much more important on the way out.

I found myself. And perhaps that is why I keep returning to you.

Because every August reminds me that there was once a version of me who thought love had to be purchased with pieces of herself.

And there is a version of me now who knows better. A version who understands that her life is not an empty room waiting for somebody else to enter.

Her life is already a life. Her heart is already full of things. Her existence is already enough. She can love people without begging them to love her back. She can desire someone without making them responsible for her happiness. She can lose someone without losing herself. She can be rejected without becoming unworthy.

And she can walk away.

So, dear August, thank you. Thank you for being the month in which I finally stopped trying to earn what was never mine to earn.

Thank you for teaching me that desperation is not devotion. That overgiving is not proof of love. That self-abandonment is not sacrifice.

And that being chosen by someone else will never be more important than choosing yourself.

Every year you return, I remember. And every year, I choose myself again. Perhaps that is the real love story you gave me.

Not the story of the person who never chose me.

But the story of the woman who finally did.

Me.

And somehow, August, that has always been enough.

Narangi🌙🍂✨️

Watu huwa wako na kadunia kao. Na kwa hio dunia wako na vocabulary yao. Wamejijazia vitu kadha wa kadha

Hear Me Out.

Every word spoken, every story written, every narration done is actually very neutral.

In what sense you may ask?!.

Well, you see words are words. We attach meaning to them. Everything is always neutral until we give them meaning. Even life itself.

Your upbringing and culture play a huge role in the meaning you attach to things. And that is why effective communication is vital between friends and lovers.

One lover sees “i love you too” as not enough. Meanwhile the one who said these very words was confessing their undying love. So what then is the misunderstanding? The missunderstanding comes in when both parties in a connection have a story behind the words and statements their partner or friend uses.

Applies to so many other aspects in life. And until you meet someone mature enough you will think you are poor at communication. All along you just had connections that ignored your story and enforced theirs.

I don't think misunderstandings are strong ground for a breakup. They are an invitation to intimacy. But we are all too caught up defending our side of the story to even think of it as an opportunity to know each other.

We sacrifice genuine connections at the altar of our egos.

And sometimes people choose to be misunderstood because they get exhausted having to explain themselves to you over and over again without feeling understood.

And that is a valid ground to let go. Imagine having to spend eternity translating your soul. Must be exhausting.

Sometimes your body knows it is tired before you do.

It had been a long week. A very long week, especially emotionally.

And normally, I sit with my emotions. I process them. I talk to myself. I try to understand what I am feeling and why I am feeling it. So I thought I was okay.

I had been talking to my friends. I had been telling them I was okay. And, in some ways, I believed I was.

But there are things you cannot always know about yourself from a distance.

Sometimes you need to be physically around someone to realize how much you have been carrying.

I had not seen my school friends for almost a month. School was opening again, and I was finally going back. I remember meeting this particular friend outside class, and she said something that stayed with me.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you outside class, because I wouldn’t have been able to give you this hug had you been in class.”

And then she hugged me. Not the casual kind of hug.

A real hug.

I rarely give people those. Even those closest to me never get these guys, I don’t know why. My body chooses. Physical touch is my lobe language for this same reason. I can’t exactly be open to physical touch unless my body actually is safe.

If I meet you and I know you, I might hug you, “kama sufuria moto”. Quickly. Briefly. Don't get too close.

Because for me, a proper hug requires safety.

I need to feel safe with you before I let my body soften enough to actually be held. There is something incredibly intimate about allowing another person that close to you when you are not someone who gives that access easily.

But with her, I stayed. For about three minutes. Three whole minutes. Hizo ni mingi btw.

Anyone watching us probably would have wondered when we were going to stop. And then we went to class.

I didn't think much of it at the time. The next day, she walked me home. I think she is the best thing that ever happened to me in The Kenya School Of Law friendshipwise. Because I prefer walking home with someone Iam safe with so I was actually scared if anyone was ever going to make me safe enough to enjoy walks with them, you know.

We talked on our way home. And somewhere in that walk, I realized something about myself.

You never really know how much you are carrying until someone gives you enough safety to put some of it down.

You might think you have nothing to say until someone creates an environment where you are allowed to say everything.

You might think you are fine until someone looks at you, not necessarily with their eyes, but with the kind of presence that says;

You don't have to perform here.

I think I am like a flower that folds inward.

You wouldn't necessarily know how tightly I am folded because that is simply how I exist. Quietly. Carefully. Protectively.

But create the right environment, and I unfold. Not because you force me to. Because I finally feel safe enough to. And she created that environment for me.

By the time we were saying goodbye, we hugged again. And again, the hug lasted. Longer than the kind of hug you give someone before walking away.

I didn't want to come out of it.

She eventually asked me, “Do you want to sleep on my shoulder? Do you want to sleep in my arms?”

And I said yes.

And when she said it, I didn't pull away. I stayed. I rested in her arms.

And there was something almost startling about how good it felt.

To be held. Not fixed. Not advised. Not questioned. Just held.

I hadn't realized I needed that.

That was the strange part.

I had spent the entire week thinking I was processing my emotions perfectly well. I had been talking. Thinking. Reflecting. Being there for myself.

And yet, somewhere underneath all of that, there was a part of me that simply needed another human being to hold me for a while.

It made me think about physical chemistry differently.

Because sometimes we talk about connection as though it exists entirely in conversation; the things you say, the way you understand each other's minds, the depth of your conversations.

But there is another language the body speaks.

The language of proximity. Touch. Warmth. A hug that doesn't make you want to escape. Arms that don't make you tense. A shoulder that somehow feels like somewhere you can rest.

And I think that matters.

Sometimes, though, the difference between one hug and another is not the hug itself.

It is the person. It is what your body associates with them. It is the safety you feel before the embrace even begins. It is whether you can actually let yourself be held.

Other friends had hugged me before. They still do. But this one was different. Because for those few moments, I didn't feel like I was merely being hugged.

I felt understood. My body felt understood in her arms. And maybe that's why my body wanted to stay there. Maybe that's why I didn't pull away. Maybe that's why, for those few minutes, I could finally stop carrying everything.

I could just rest.

And perhaps there is an intimacy in that which we don't talk about enough. The intimacy of being held by someone who makes your body feel safe enough to soften.

The intimacy of finding yourself resting somewhere you didn't know you needed to be.

The intimacy of realizing that sometimes, before your mind can say, I need comfort, your body has already whispered it.

And sometimes, someone just happens to hear.

I have always been capable of loving people deeply, of caring for them, of noticing them.

But you are the person I learned to love in little details.

There is something about your essence, the way you have created and carried yourself into the person you are, that has made a space for me to love you without effort.

I notice when your voice changes. I notice the moments when you become quieter. I notice the things you say in passing, and the things that stay with me long after the conversation has ended. I notice the moods you don't name. I notice the spaces between your words. I notice you.

I know you in small ways. Your silence is something I can feel. And when you pull away, I always want to come a little closer. I choose to pay attention. And I think that is one of the most honest ways I have known how to love someone, to notice them. Not only when they are bright and easy and giving, but when they are tired, when they are quiet, when they have retreated somewhere inside themselves.

I don't immediately ask you to come back. I just want to sit beside the version of you that doesn't have anything to say.

I'm fluent in silence.

I know you carry a lot. Maybe more than you let people see. Maybe more than you let me see. But one thing you don't know is that I know you carry a lot. And I admire you for it, although sometimes I wish you didn't have to be so strong. I wish you knew that you don't always have to carry everything beautifully. You can put some things down. You can be tired. You can be uncertain. You can need someone. You can have days where you don't know what to feel, what you want, or what you're supposed to do next.

The more I know you, the more I love you. The more human you become to me, the more I see your humanity, the more I am pulled closer. Because loving you, at least the way I have come to understand it, cannot only mean loving what you give. It has to mean loving the person who exists when there is nothing left to give.

And I don't want you to ever feel like you have to perform for my affection. You don't have to be interesting enough. You don't have to be okay enough. You don't have to say the right things. You don't have to be in the right mind space. You don't have to make yourself easier to love. You don't have to convince me. I already know.

I notice when you're quiet because I care enough to wonder.

I notice because I value you enough to come closer without demanding that you let me in.

That is what you have become to me, someone I notice, someone I care about, someone whose well-being matters to me even when you need nothing from me.

And perhaps that is the simplest thing I can tell you, I value you. Not for what you do for me. Not for how much attention you give me. Not for how often you show up. Not because you make my life more interesting. Just you. I value you as you come.

And I hope you know that there is a difference between being needed and being cherished. I don't need you to be anything for me. Or for anyone. I just want you to be. Your existence is enough for me to smile. Enough to make me happy that you're here.

There is something so special about knowing that you exist somewhere in this world. Waking up and knowing you're there makes me smile in a way I can't quite explain.

You are special to my heart. Not because you have done something extraordinary to earn that place. Not because you have to keep doing something to remain there. You are special because you are you.

And if I were to be completely honest with you, you are my favorite person on earth. Not in a way that requires anything from you. Not in a way that asks you to become mine. Just in the quiet, uncomplicated way of knowing that among all the people I could have met in this life, I am deeply grateful that I got to meet you.

I love the details. The things you probably don't think are worth noticing. The quiet. The pauses. The little changes. The person you are when no one is asking anything of you. I love knowing you there. I love knowing that you exist.

And maybe that is what I have been trying to tell you all along: you don't have to become anything more for me to cherish you. You don't have to give me anything for your existence to matter to me. You don't have to make yourself extraordinary. You already are.

And I will keep noticing. Because you are you.

Watu hujua what they want.

And they don’t need convincing to act right. I have been in the world long enough to know that when someone wants you,you don’t need to walk on eggshells. Fucking eggshells in fear of losing them.

The problem with someone knowing you want them so much is they take you for granted. We will not blame them because the world has taught us scarce resources are more precious than widely available ones.

Then I will ask, if we are measuring value by scarcity, what will oxygen say?

When you are someone who chases what you want apparently the chased decides you are not as valuable ati if you were hunge chase. Mko na ujinga huku nje !!!

Ukiamua ku reply texts immediately wanasema una simp. But shit most people hawajui ni those who reply immediately wanataka kufunga unnecessary tabs as soon as they pop. Na pia priority. Ukiwa priority ya msee, haezi taka ku waste time ati juu anataka kuonekana ako busy at the expense of your heart. Ya’ll boosting your egos and missing out on genuine connections!.

However, mwenye ana chase huwa anajua the value of the chased. The one being chased ndio hujiona keki sana anaamua kuwa mtiaji. And starts acting hard to get. Wewe ukiamua kuwa hard to get nitakuacha hapo na hardness yako. Ni dreams nita chase, ni goals nita chase ama ni wewe. Na si eti you are making it easy. We move!.

Now, when you get into a friendship or a relationship in which you value the friendship or relationship and hungetaka to lose this particular person, and you decide to walk on eggs shells, all I can say is hamko aligned.

Because when both of you want something, ya’ll just act right without the other person even making you feel like you have to work double for them to stay. And to be honest it is fucking draining to work on a connection alone.

One sided shit is energy wasting. And the best you can do is give your energy to things that build you and your goals. Otherwise you’ll keep attracting bare minimum bonds which don’t even match the quality of energy you possess.

By eggshells, I mean you question everything you do. You speak up and now you start wondering whether keeping quiet would have been better. You choose to dress masc and spend your life wondering whether dressing up as a femme would have made them love you any better. You buy them something and spend eternity wonderinh if it was gift enough.

In life, connections with fellow human beings are not meant to be mind games !

Yet the ego games we play leave me wondering if any of us is deserving of the title “human beings”.

Someone who values the connection as much as you would also put in effort.

I have this friend who reminds me that friendship is a two way street. Mutuality and reciprocation are natural consequences of a bond where both of them enjoy each other. And I count myself lucky to have friends who have always shown me what love, care and consideration is.

But that does not mean I haven’t experienced mindgames and ego games. And being in both set ups, I have come to understand this, apparently we have people with brains that tell them if they act cold people will chase them. That if they are non chalant life will bend their way. That if they show little to no interest they will be chased. Uuuum, yes, they will be chased, by people who self abandon.

Anyone who knows their worth wouldn’t want someone who puts zero to no effort in a friendship or relationship. Heck we’d rather spend life alone!.

And from all this one thing is clear, when someone values you, they won’t have you questioning the bond. They won’t have you thinking ati you should have done better. That you need to walk on egg shells to keep them.

Nah-uh

Simply existing is enough for someone who loves you. You don’t need to move mountains daily to keep someone interested in you. If they mandate that you do, it’s advisable to leave and question your boundaries because clearly how did it get that far?

Halafu,

They don’t expressly tell you to move mountains. They condition you. When you chase they reward you with presence. When you simply exist, they are no where to be seen. So your mind learns that you have to keep chasing to EARN this person.

You don’t need to earn anything. Let them go with their pathetic boring upbringing and traumas that have them treating you like crap.

So, kama kuna mtu mahali anakufanya uskie ni kama you need to be a certain way, perform a certain way, that is not love. That is a master slave bond. And I hope you get the courage to look at your light, your worth and how amazing you and decide that draining bonds aren’t your cup of tea❤️🎀.

Narangi🎀

One of it I learnt early as a kid. Where I knew that you could do everything right and still lose. That is because I was the child who did everything right yet I didn’t get what I wanted.

And some did the bare minimum and still won.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately, especially while reading The Psychology of Money and listening to a podcast about the strange, emotional, deeply human relationship we have with money.

I was not taught about money. All I knew was I should study so hard, get a high paying job and live my dream life. At 25 years, I knew I would be driving my first car. If I get my Driving Licence early enough that story will be true but the idea is, what I knew about money is so far away from what money actually is.

Apparently my tiny childhood dreams revolved around thinking just because I was a bright kid, money was going to follow my intelligence. I didn’t know we have nepo babies. We have people with such a high advantage such that working alone wasn’t going to get me where I wanted to go. And hence taking my financial literacy seriously seeing that noone cared to educate me on this very delicate topic partaining to my existence on earth.

Money is emotional. It carries memories. It carries fear, shame, pride, safety, freedom, ambition, guilt and sometimes even grief.

People who are non chalant and avoid doing shadow work will probably call me crazy for concluding that money is emotional. And just as emotions flow through us, money is an energy that flows through us as well.

The relationship you have with money did not begin when you received your first salary. It probably began much earlier. It began when you were a child watching the adults around you talk about bills. It began when you asked for something and heard, “We can't afford that.” It began when you watched someone struggle financially, or when you watched someone have more than enough. It began when you learned, consciously or unconsciously, what money meant in your home.

To some people, money means safety. To others, it means freedom. To others, it means status. To others, it means never having to depend on anybody again. I won’t lie, to me it means all the above!.

And sometimes money becomes the place where old wounds continue to speak.

You can change your income without immediately changing your relationship with money. You can earn more and still feel poor. You can have enough and still live as though disaster is coming. You can finally have what you once prayed for and still be terrified of losing it.

That is what makes money so interesting. Our financial decisions are often being made by people who have lived through experiences our spreadsheets know nothing about.

Two people can earn the same amount of money and behave completely differently because money means something completely different to each of them.

One might see it as security. Another might see it as something to spend because life is short. Another might hoard it because they know what it feels like to have nothing.

And then there is the other thing I have been thinking about: success.

Let us talk about successful people because I really love Billie Eilish and I know most of you have those people ya’ll admire for their success. Most poeple might think I love Billie Eilish because she is androgynous in her dressing, which is cool, but I love her above all for her success.

We love successful people. Perhaps a little too much. We look at someone who has become wealthy, built a company, gone viral, invested early, bought property, become a creator, or achieved something extraordinary, and immediately start looking for the formula. What did they do? What did they study? What did they invest in? What did they sacrifice? What time did they wake up? What habits do they have?

What can I copy?

But there is a problem with this. An outcome is not necessarily a formula.

Consider Bill Gates. People can talk about his intelligence, his work ethic, his ambition and his extraordinary business decisions, and they should. But there was also something else.

He attended one of the very few schools at the time that had access to a computer.

Before most people had even seen a keyboard, he had an opportunity to spend substantial time around one. That does not erase his talent. It does not make his success undeserved. It simply reminds us that circumstances matter.

And this is something I wish we remembered when we compare ourselves to other people, especially when we are young. Our parents sometimes hold up extraordinary people as though their success is a perfectly reproducible equation. Look at this person. Look what they have achieved. Why can't you do the same? But sometimes the person we are being compared to started the race somewhere completely different. Different resources. Different opportunities. Different family. Different networks. Different timing. Different access. Different risks. Different luck.

We see the result. We don't see all the conditions that produced it.

That is why I think we should be careful about who we admire. Not because successful people aren't worth admiring, but because admiration can quietly become imitation. And imitation can become dangerous when we mistake somebody else's circumstances for their strategy.

The more successful someone's story is, the more circumstances there may be behind it that you cannot reproduce.

The brighter the light, the larger the shadow.

You see the person who took the risk and became wealthy, but you don't necessarily see the risks they could afford to take because they had a safety net. You see the person who left their job and built a company, but you don't see who paid their rent while they figured it out. You see the person who invested in something that multiplied, but you don't see the ten things they could have invested in that didn't.

You see the TikToker who started posting and suddenly makes money.

You don't see the thousands of people who posted consistently and never became viral.

You see the person who got lucky with cryptocurrency. You don't see everyone who took the same bet and lost.

This is survivorship bias dressed up as inspiration.

Khai I have so much to say!!!

And sometimes, the story is so beautiful that we don't even question it.

They believed in themselves. They worked hard. They never gave up. They took a chance. And then they made it. It is a comforting story, and perhaps that is precisely why we should be careful with it. Because the more comforting the story, the easier it is to follow blindly.

I am not arguing that effort doesn't matter. It does. Discipline matters. Skill matters. Good decisions matter. Preparation matters. But outcomes are not controlled by those things alone. You can make an excellent decision and still get a bad outcome. You can make a terrible decision and get rewarded. You can prepare for years and miss an opportunity by six months. Someone else can stumble into the same opportunity without preparing at all.

That does not mean preparation was pointless. It means the world is not a perfectly fair scoreboard where the best decisions always receive the best rewards.

And perhaps this is where our understanding of money needs to mature. Instead of asking only, “What did this person do to become successful?” maybe we should also ask, “What else was true about their life when they did it?” What did they have access to? What risks could they afford? What was the timing? Who helped them? What happened by chance? What could have gone wrong? What happened to the people who made the same decisions and didn't succeed?

Those questions don't make a success story less inspiring. They make it more honest. And I think honesty is much more useful than inspiration when it comes to money.

Because I don't want to copy someone's life. I want to understand the patterns.

Study patterns, not people.

If someone becomes wealthy through crypto, don't automatically conclude that crypto is the secret. If someone becomes successful through TikTok, don't conclude that TikTok is the secret. If someone drops out of university and builds a company, don't conclude that dropping out was the secret. If someone wakes up at 4 a.m. and becomes successful, don't conclude that waking up at 4 a.m. caused the success.

Look for the pattern underneath the story.

Maybe they consistently developed valuable skills. Maybe they understood their market. Maybe they took risks repeatedly, but risks they could survive. Maybe they kept their expenses low while increasing their income. Maybe they had patience. Maybe they built strong networks. Maybe they were in the right place at the right time. Maybe luck played a larger role than the story admits.

Patterns are more useful than individual anecdotes because individual stories are messy. And money is messy.

There is no universal formula. There are only decisions made by human beings, under circumstances they did not entirely choose, with information they did not entirely have, carrying emotional histories they may not even understand.

Which brings me back to the psychology of money.

Maybe the first financial question we should ask isn't, “How do I make more money?” Maybe it is, “What does money mean to me?”

What am I afraid will happen if I don't have enough? What am I trying to prove by having more? What did I learn about wealth growing up? What financial behaviors are actually mine, and which ones did I inherit? Am I making decisions based on my present circumstances, or am I still responding to my past?

Because the past doesn't just shape how we see money. It can shape what we do with it. And what we do with it today eventually becomes part of our future.

Maybe that is why financial literacy alone isn't enough. You can understand compound interest and still make decisions from fear. You can know how to budget and still spend emotionally. You can understand investing and still take risks because you desperately want to catch up with someone else. You can know the numbers and still be governed by the story underneath them.

Success isn't as simple as being good enough.

Sometimes you can do everything right and still lose. Sometimes you can do very little and still win. The wisdom isn't in pretending otherwise. The wisdom is learning how to make good decisions anyway.

Narangi🌙

I think I have to begin this with a confession. I did not know I liked girls.

Not really.

I had, of course, done things that could have been evidence. In my younger years, there had been the sort of playful experimentation girls sometimes have with each other. Kissing friends for fun. Dry humping for fun.Being overly affectionate. Feeling very comfortable around girls.

But I had never stopped to ask myself what any of it meant.

And whenever the question came close enough to be uncomfortable, I had an explanation ready. It was curiosity. It was girlhood. It was teenagehood. It was because I went to an all-girls school.

Besides, I had dated boys. I liked boys. Society understood me better that way, and I had grown up learning that there was a very specific kind of happiness I was supposed to want. So I wanted that. Or at least, I tried very hard to.

There had been girls I found beautiful before. Girls I felt strangely drawn to. Girls I became too emotionally close to. People actually noticed.

"Are you after girls or boys?" I’d get asked

My friends would joke that I treated girls better than their boyfriends. I laughed. I had no better explanation. Laughing protects me from lengthy explanations.

Then one day, a girl appeared on my TikTok FYP. In 2024. This girl was in a white Tshirt.

And this is where the story becomes inconvenient.Because the first thing I noticed was that they were very beautiful and brilliant.

They were talking about something ordinary, but the way they thought about it made me stop scrolling. (….bedrotting is real…) That is what they were talking about.

I remember thinking, This one is brilliant.

I liked the video. I reposted it. I commented. Then I scrolled away and forgot about them. Or so I thought.

Until they FOLLOWED ME. That was when I went looking on their page….And, okay.

I stared. For hours, probably. I remember thinking they were beautiful. Not in the distant, objective way you can say that another person is beautiful and mean nothing by it.

I mean I was affected by it. Their smile kept catching me. Their energy kept catching me. And their mind had already caught me.

I had somehow found someone who was beautiful and interesting, which was already a dangerous territory for me.

But I still wasn't thinking, I like girls. No.

I was thinking, I really like this person. There is a difference. At least there was in my head.

Then they messaged me…..The universe has her ways, I guess.

And somehow, this person I had only recently discovered was suddenly interested in what I was learning, interested in helping me, interested in talking to me.

They were kind. They were patient. They were curious about me.

And suddenly my list was getting longer. Beautiful. Brilliant. Kind. Funny. Oh, God. I was in trouble. But I didn't know that yet.

I took my time before reaching out because I was trying to become objective.

I actually remember doing this. I told myself: They are just a girl. You are impressed because they are intelligent. You are intelligent too. Their smile is not that serious. You admire them. That's all.

And then, almost like I needed the sentence to scare the feeling back into its hiding place:

THEY ARE A GIRL!!!! That was supposed to settle it. It did not.

We started talking. We became friends. And friendship made everything worse. Because now I wasn't just attracted to some vague image of a person on my FYP.

I knew them. I knew how they thought. I knew the questions they asked. I knew the things they cared about. I knew their little patterns.

I started remembering things they had said without trying.

I started recognising them in things. I started wanting to tell them things.

And then I began missing them. That one was difficult to explain. Missing someone is a very intimate feeling. Especially when you are still insisting to yourself that you are simply making a friend.

I remember one period when I decided I needed to take some time away from them. My feelings had become too loud. I thought distance would help. It was supposed to be temporary.

They said something along the lines of, when you come back, you might not find me where you left me.

And do you know how long I lasted? Hours. HOURS!!! Not days. Not a week. HOURS.

I came back from “my social media break”. Because apparently my grand experiment in emotional objectivity had lasted approximately one afternoon.

That should have been evidence. It still wasn't enough for me.

I told my friends about this girl. All of them. And they were excited for me in the way friends become excited when they can see something you are desperately trying not to see. They kept suggesting that perhaps I liked girls. I defended myself with the energy of a woman standing in court with absolutely no evidence.

Meanwhile, I was thinking about this girl constantly.

I could tell you things about them I had no business having memorised. I watched their content so much that I started knowing what they would say before they said it.

I picked up their vocabulary. I knew their mannerisms. I knew the things they liked. I had built an entire little archive of them inside my head.

And still, We're just friends. At some point I realised I was creating imaginary situations involving them.

I remember, on Feb 14th, I went for a vacation with a dude in Mombasa so that I can objectively get rid of this girl from my head. I even posted dudes from movies on my status to affirm that Iam as straight as can be!.

SPOILER ALERT: I thought about this girl all through my Mombasa vacation, when I was posting, I posted people who reminded me of her and worse, I denied havinh feelings for her. At least, I tried!.

I started giving my feelings somewhere to go. I made things for them. I gave them pet names. I built scenarios. I thought about conversations that had not happened and probably never would.

I was, to put it scientifically, finished. Completely finished.

And then came the part where I could no longer lie to myself.

I remember waking up one day and realising I had two choices. I could disappear. Ghost this girl. I could stop talking to them. I could go back to the version of myself who had never asked the question. I could convince myself that I had simply become too attached to a friend.

Or I could tell the truth.

I liked them. Not liked in the harmless way I had been using that word. I had fallen for them.

And, somehow, in falling for one girl, I finally understood something about myself that years of trying to be normal had kept blurry.

I liked girls.

Oh.

I LIKED girls. That was the epiphany.

Certain girls made sense.Certain feelings made sense. Certain friendships made sense. Certain questions people had asked me suddenly made sense. All those times I had thought, Why am I like this? I knew now. I wasn't confused. I was discovering myself.

And you,you were the evidence.

You were the first girl I could not explain away. You were the first girl whose beauty didn't feel like an observation. It felt personal. Your mind didn't merely impress me. It pulled me closer.

Your kindness didn't just make me appreciate you. It made me want to be near you. Your care didn't just make me grateful. It made me soft.

And somewhere between the conversations, the checking in, the little questions about my life, the ordinary moments that probably meant very little to you at the time, something in me changed.

I started understanding what it meant to want a girl.

Not theoretically. Not as an idea. Not as something I could laugh off as experimentation or girlhood.

Actually.You made it real. And I don't think you understand how significant that was. Because you didn't just become someone I loved. You became the person through whom I met a part of myself.

There is something almost unfair about being the first person to introduce someone to themselves.

You never asked for that role. I know!

You probably weren't even aware you were playing it. You were simply being yourself.

And I was over here having a personal existential crisis because you smiled at me and asked me honest questions and cared whether I had eaten.

You changed my understanding of my own heart.

You gave me a type. You gave me preferences. You gave me a reference point I didn't have before.

And, admittedly, you also made it significantly harder for me to pretend I was heterosexual.

For that, I should probably thank you. Even if the story hurt.

Even if I spent months trying to understand what had happened to me. Even if I sometimes wished I had never felt anything so intensely.

I would still choose knowing you. I would still choose the girl who made me realise.

Because before you, there was a version of me who kept negotiating with herself. After you, there was a version of me who knew. And knowing myself has been worth everything.

I don't know whether you were my first great love or simply my first great recognition.

I looked at you and thought I was admiring your face. Your mind. Your softness. Your strange little ways.

And then one day I realised I had been LIKING you.

So, if you ever wonder what you did to me….You made me realise I like girls.

But that is the smallest version of the truth. You made me realise I could love one. You made me realise I could be moved by one. You made me realise that there was nothing imaginary about the tenderness I felt.

And perhaps most importantly, you made me realise that the heart I had spent years trying to make socially acceptable had been telling me the truth all along.

I just needed the right girl to hear it. And apparently, that girl was you.

Nerd🌙

And these things are true. But sasa tufanye? Tulie ama? Ya’ll be making people feel bad for loving others. It’s not even sexy at all. Like just let people be.

I advocate that if you love someone, love them. Akiona hatakupenda in return, mambo yake. Process your feelings in the best way you know possible for you and keep working on other areas of your life.

But don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed for loving. No.matter the shape of form of that love. Love is love.

Noone gets an invitation to choose whom to have feelings for. Feelings just land. But feelings are not instructions. Just because you feel strongly and intensely it does not mean you must act on those feelings.

Alchemise. Transform what you feel to art. The energy of the art will find its frequency in one way or another. Love given is never lost. More importantly, love felt is not a waste even if the other person hajui how deep your feelings go fot them.

Trust me, loving someone who doesn’t see you the same way is a different kind of pain. A different kind of sorrow. A different kind of grief. Pain because your heart wants what it wants and is relentless to get it but won’t. Because you are a gentle lady who thinks and considers before taking action. Sorrow because the sadness that comes with unrequited love is unmatched. Don’t I know ball? And grief because you have to grieve the future your mind built of you two.

The good news is, in my opinion and world view, everyone has their person. And your person will never need convincing to see you. To choose you is a natural instinct for them. To hold you gives them immense pleasure and to be by your side is a piece of their destiny and purpose.

So we won’t question why the feelings exist. Because feelings don’t need a reason. They can just exist. You can have that soft spot for this incredibly amazing woman. We will however question what you choose to do with these feelings.

Because what you choose you have control over. And how you act is something that you need to take accountability for.

I really be saying you don’t have to “steal” or take away someone from someone just because you have feelings for them. That is so “ungently-lady like”. Because eventually your person was going to come all along.

So what happens when you downplay your instincts, principles and values for someone else only for you to realise they don’t get you as much as “the love of your life “ would.

I always say, when the time is right everything aligns. And if they don’t align pia ni sawa. As long as you stay true to yourself and heart, you have nothing to lose. Win-Win.

Love has a strange habit of having you saying things and doing things you’d naturally not do. And when love kicks in, let it through. Resisting the power of love only strengthens it. Resisting how you feel only strengthens those feelings. So allow yourself to be a conduit of energy and move along with life.

Unprocessed emotions do show up in mysterious ways and in the least expected ways. I prefer processing so Iam not caught off guard. I advice you do the same.

So people may make you feel pathetic for yearning or for wanting and for feeling and that is okay. They have their freedom of saying whatever it is makes sense to them, however, you have the power to choose what to do with how you feel. And noone gets to dictate that !

Kukupenda, nayo nitakupenda. But sio vile umefunzwa ama vile umezoea.

Staki kukupenda in ways that make you feel suffocated, zii. I will not pluck your flowers, I will let you bloom!.

I don’t want you feeling as if you our love is a small room that you have to leave in order to grow.

Staki ku dictate what you can and cannot do. Hivo ndivyo wamekufunza kupenda. Hivo ndivyo wamekuzoesha. Lakini mimi sio hao.

You don’t have to feel like you have to surrender your dreams and goals ndio ukue na mimi. Najua unanipenda but staki hio mapenzi ikue the cage that stops you from flying into the woman you dream of becoming.

Naogopa sana kuishi maisha bila wewe. My heart yearns to be next to yours now and always. Lakini staki my love for you ikuwe the reason you stunt your growth.

Also, you are one of the greatest women to ever exist, sasa mbona ninyime dunia the chance to experience your greatness?

Na sitaki kuwa sidelined as you chase your dreams. Equally, I don’t want you to prioritise me just because I said I don’t want to be sidelined.

I want to love you through every strange, unfinished, inconvenient version of yourself. The versions that don't yet know what they want. The versions that change their minds. The versions that outgrow old dreams and discover new ones. The versions that wake up one morning and realise that the person they were becoming yesterday is not the person they want to become anymore.

I am here for everything !!

It’s very important kujijua na kujitambua. Even when we are in love. Sitaki utamani maisha different halafu ati mimi ndio nakuweka from attaining that life. That just doesn’t sound so right, now does it?

I don't want you to look at the life you could have lived and find my fingerprints all over the places you abandoned.

I don't want you to stop loving the things you once loved because loving me began to consume every room in you.

Kama ulipenda kuimba, do it. Kama ulipenda ku watch comedy keep watching, who knows maybe your purpose is intertwined into these little things that you love. And they make you, YOU.

I don't want you to pour all your water into me and call it devotion while your own soil goes dry.

I want something else. I want us to water ourselves. And then, because we have learned how to remain alive independently, we water each other.

So ukiwahi feel suffocated, allow yourself to breath because the last thing I want is to suffocate you.

I want to see you on stages I have never stood on. I want to hear you speak about things I don't understand. I want you to discover passions that existed before I knew your name. I want you to become excellent at something simply because it makes your soul feel awake.

Sawa?

And if one night you're working toward a dream and the rest of the world has gone quiet, I want to be the person who understands why you are still awake. Na nitakaa na wewe hadi asubuhi. Heck, I will cheer you into your becoming. Not because I need to be included in everything you do. But because what matters to you matters to me.

I want you to know that I am cheering for the person you are becoming, even when becoming her requires you to move beyond the version of you I first met.

Nataka unipende juu unataka. Si juu una feel that you have to.

Baby;

You don’t have to do what you don’t want.

And if, somewhere in that becoming, you discover that I am no longer the person who fulfills you, I want to love you enough not to turn your unhappiness into an obligation.

Because what is the point of keeping someone who is only staying because leaving would hurt you?

What is the virtue in being chosen by someone who has quietly stopped choosing you?

I don't want to possess your happiness simply because I once had a place inside it. If you discover a life that feels more honest without me, I would rather grieve the truth than celebrate a lie.

There is no nobility in asking someone to remain unhappy so that I can remain loved. And perhaps this is where love becomes less about holding and more about understanding.

Sometimes loving someone means holding their hand. Sometimes it means holding the door. Sometimes it means saying, go.

Najua hujazoea kuambiwa hivi. Na unaeza dhani sikupendi juu naku allow ufanye vile unadai. But baby, that is love. Love allows you to expand not shrink.

Plus I don't want to steal you from a relationship in which you are genuinely happy just because I want you to be happy with me.

If you are loved well somewhere else, then I hope you are loved well.

I don't want another person's unhappiness to be the price of my happiness. I don't want to win you by making someone else lose you.

Because I have this strange, stubborn faith that what is meant to meet me will meet me without requiring me to destroy another person's joy to make room for it.

Mine will come. The love that belongs in my life will come.

I don't want to love you as though your life begins where I enter it.

I want to love you knowing that it began long before me and, if life is kind, will become infinitely larger than anything either of us can currently imagine.

So in your expansion, I want to be part of that expansion. Not its boundary. Not its cage. Not its ceiling. I want to be the person beside you while you become.

Na kama siku moja utaamka uamue I ain’t shit then well and good. I will let you go na si eti juu sikupendi, nah-uh.

It’s because

I’d rather grieve the truth than celebrate a lie

Your One & Only

Narangi🌙

It’s not even a light matter anymore. Something I can just assume. Nah-uh. It’s getting to the point I have to question whether I have ever actually known how to think. Of course, Iam a reasonable woman, but she has me questioning everything from A to Z.

Lord save me my drug is this woman!

Surely surely, the version of me that evolves everytime we interact cannot be the straight thinking version of me. And the emotions and feelings that accompany the thoughts intensify the whole experience.

There is no amount of reasoning that can explain what her existence does to my brain chemistry.

I reach new levels of attraction when I think of her let alone see her or her photos and videos. There is no coming back from this, Iam afraid. And if I do, the healing is going to take a very long while, I must admit.

And I have things to do, examinations to read for people to talk to, applications to make but for now, this very moment, this is hers. Let her consume my thoughts. I effortlessly belong to her.

They have me hooked, hooked on them like a drug and don’t I know the consequences that come with withdrawal?

My fantasies have her written all over them. My heart calls their name and my dreams echo her very essence.

It surely must be illegal to feel this intensely for another human being. Goodness gracious, don’t call the love police on me, I can explain!

We all have people we like. People we enjoy interacting with, then there is this one. This one who enters your system and rearranges the chemistry of your whole being.

You start breathing differently. Your temperature rises and the crown of your womanhood knows whom it exists for.

Suddenly you're thinking about them at completely unreasonable times. Suddenly their existence feels suspiciously significant. Suddenly you are having thoughts that make you stare into the middle distance and whisper:

“Fuck. I am a goner!!”

And the funniest part is that I genuinely don't know which version of me is speaking anymore. Because this can't be the straight thinking version of me.

This cannot be the version of me that is supposedly thinking rationally.

She is gone. She has left the building.

There is simply a woman somewhere inside me screaming, OH MY GOD.

Because beneath all the ridiculousness, there is something much more serious.

I care. I care so much that sometimes it scares me. Not because caring is bad.

But because I know what it means to become attached to someone. It means they can matter. It means their presence can become familiar.

It means their absence could eventually be felt. And I don't want to think about that. I don't want to imagine a future where someone who feels so incredibly alive in my world becomes distant.

Where conversations become memories. Where closeness becomes something I have to remember instead of something I get to experience.

That thought genuinely breaks something in me. And maybe that's why the feelings are so intense. Maybe attraction is only one tiny piece of it.

Perhaps admiration is another. Perhaps affection is another. Perhaps there's something about being seen, understood, fascinated by someone, and simply being grateful that they exist in your life that doesn't fit neatly into one word.

Perhaps I don't need to name it.

Maybe I can just admit that something about this person gets under my skin.

In the best possible way. And the worst possible way.

My healing process is going to take so long. I can feel it. And it's not even a laughing matter.

Because somewhere between the jokes and the gay panic and the please, God, let me think normally for five minutes, I have realized that this person has become important to me.

Terrifyingly important. And perhaps that is the real vulnerability.

Not saying, I think you're beautiful. Not saying, I get gay panic thoughts about you.

Not even admitting, you have me hooked like a drug.

It's admitting, I would be devastated if we stopped being close.

There.

That's the part I don't know how to make funny. So I'll make everything else funny instead.

I'll joke about my brain chemistry. I'll accuse my own thoughts of being suspicious. I'll continue wondering which version of me is speaking.

I'll stare at the ceiling and think, this can't be the straight-thinking version of me.

And then I'll laugh. Because apparently this is my life now.

Apparently someone can simply exist in my reality and suddenly my internal monologue becomes a gay coming-of-age film with no budget and absolutely no adult supervision.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe I don't need to run from the feeling. Maybe I don't need to turn it into a conclusion. Maybe I can just sit with the absurdity of it.

The tenderness. The fear. The fascination. The ridiculousness. The terrifying gayness of it all. Because sometimes someone comes into your life and you don't immediately know what they're going to mean to you.

You just know that they do. And somehow, that is enough to make your entire brain go;

Oh, fuck.

Here we go again.

My panties were wet. I could feel my thighs drenching. My frontal lobe was about to go offline. Oxytocin and Dopamine were competing and all my eyes could see was her.

I clenched my fists. My fingers are always trimmed so I didn’t feel the intensity of the clench. My eyes screamt yearning. My heart pounded so hard threatening to break my chest.

My legs could definitely tell how they wanted to be held by her shoulders. The masculine shoulders that screamt of strength and composure. And my hands already rehearsed what it would feel like to replace her bra and cup her full, round twin hills.

Suddenly the air was hot. And my body and clothes were having a heated discussion on whether to undress or not.

She was there. Unaware of what my biology was threatening to do. She was the most beautiful shade of a mix of dark chocolate and and brown. Her smile was enough to take me to higher realms of fantasies. I could already feel her lips against mine.

As if reading my mind, she banged me to the wall, pinning me against it. One hand wrapping my own above my head and the other finding it’s way into the crown of my womanhood. Which had gathered enough to form a whole lake. For her.

Her lips against mine, tongues dancing into the rythme of the song, “every touch is true loveee” by Camila Cabello, effortless taking my ability to breath and soon my capacity to walk.

“Ba…by” I struggled to get the few moanful words I could into her ears as she dug deep. Before I knew it, my legs had found a resting place on her shoulders as she took a dive into the lake before her, which had now graduated into an ocean, submissively for her.

She took pleasure in mopping the ocean dry with her tongue…. with certain expertise I had never experienced before. My panties lie there happy to have held the lake in it’s initial stages.

She took off my tank top and with her thumb and index finger slowly and softly rubbed against the tips of my twin hills. Making them harder and the ocean wetter.

The life force in me threatened to leave, the seventh heaven had been attained and my moans carried no sound at this point besides fizzled screams which she efficiently put out with her hand against my mouth.

“You like that….?”

“….does that feel good?”

“Is this okay….?”

Are the lines I could collect coming from her mouth before she finished drying the ocean, digging through it and kissing it for with gratitude and pride in her eyes.

A spark shown from within through my eyes as she she helped me wear my panties slowly kissing my legs upto my thighs.

“Iam a thoroughly laid woman” was written across my face as we walked out of the city library where our nerdy interests had met and conspired with our romantic interests to transport us to the seventh heaven of pleasure.

Narangi👅

I always show up for you so calling this early in the morning is not something I find strange. I already gave you permission to call whenever, wherever. And permission exists for it to be used, isn’t it?

You wanted to talk about emotional responsibility and the gentleness that comes with being a lady. You sure already are a gentle lady, by how much you have grown since the past 6 years. You are calmer, grounded and self oriented.

My mind is yours when you need an extra brain. Processing things with you is one of the things that make me smile. Because I get to learn and unlearn. And in particular today we ended up learning so much together in just one hour.

Leaving the nuggets here so I can come back to them when I need the same.

You love yourself by becoming someone whose emotional life is not dependent on someone else.

I was reminding you what you once told me, you can love someone without making them responsible for how you feel. That is what we call emotional responsibility. Your emotions belong to you. You don’t have to look externally for regulation. Get to understand who evokes those feelings, why they do it and take care of them.

You can feel deeply and still remain your own person

We often confuse deep feelings for destiny. That’s a misconception. Just because you have deep feelings towards someone or something doesn’t make it your destiny. You can still remain your own person.

Someone becoming available doesn't automatically make them right for you.

I admire how principled you are. This is not something I’d have said 5 years ago. So the growth is so evident. And sometime back, you used to think that because someone became available for you they were now right for you. I used to think that. And I think that is what made us friends then. We shared similar thought patterns.

The unlearning we have done deserves a medal because now you and I can actually sit down, analyse whether someone you want to be friends with or I want to be friends with, meets our standard. And noone is above the program. Even those we have deep feelings for. The program is so strict around here and that is probably the reason you are my number one ally, friend and life-mate.

You don't have to disclose every feeling you experience.

We both are very expressive souls. Feelings and energies don’t get clogged up in our system. In one way or another we will process. It’s either we are talking to friends, journaling or writing. Giving our emotions a voice. Giving pain a voice, giving love a voice. And in the past we’d disclose how we felt to the triggers of the feelings and thus far the lesson is clear, we don’t have to do that.

That is one of the things that makes me call you a gentle lady.

You are soft with your feelings, firm with your boundaries, honest with yourself, responsible for your own emotional world,and still capable of loving people deeply without losing yourself inside them.

I know what it means to have access to the kind of woman you have become. I long for your becoming because I know there is more to come.

To more friendship and lessons💋.

I love you.

XOXO💋

NARANGI🌙

I noticed how much public approval most seek and how little of reflection and self understanding happens in the process. I have never understood why authenticity is not embraced. People talk about it, rarely do they embody it.

Apparently we have people who date someone because someone is popular, meets the current beauty standards and is “cool.” For a long time that quizzed me. I never truly understood why people do that. I still don’t. I don’t think I ever will.

Love is love. Your heart doesn’t get an invitation to love someone romantically. It just happens. That is why the other thing that quizzes me people being ashamed of unrequited love.

Baby,

You didn’t choose to someone who didn’t love you with similar intensity. It was out of your fucking control. So it doesn’t make sense beating yourself for something you didn’t choose.

We are so desperate to be publicly approved we forget our humanity.

Junior employees seek approval from seniors. The poor seek approval from the rich. The less read seek approval from the well read. The same applies to every dual system that exists.

We hurt others for approval. We hide away our true selves for approval. Neatly parking parts of ourselves on shelves for fear of being seen.

Apparently authenticity makes us feel so naked we cover ourselves with actions and words that earn us public approval.

We post for approval. We join groups for public approval.

Heck we even wear certain clothes to look “cool”. I don’t mean to say someone’s style is sustained by public approval. That is not what Iam saying. Iam pointing out the fact that we have people who do things just to be applauded. Not because they genuinely like what they do.

I have seen people pull down videos just because they didn’t get the number of likes anticipated. I have seen articles on substack get deleted just because someone criticized them. It leaves me wondering the motivation behind creativity.

Where do I stand? Well, there are days I used to hide myself and what I really wanted to do away because I thought my way of living was not “popular”. Or my thoughts were too “weird”. Till I realised that noone cares as much we think they care.

People care more about how they look doing things than how they impact the world.

And that is why we have classism. That is why we have social ladders. That is why we have the rich and the poor. The poor justify the rich. The extroverts justify the introverts. The “foolish” justify the wise. The “stupid” justify the clever. The book smart justifies the street smart. A lot of approval for no good reason.

Someone will shame someone else so they can be seen as “better” , “cool” or “popular”. Trading our humanity for numbers on socials.

Authenticity is sacrifised at the altar of fame. And performed authenticity is embraced and welcomed. In group mentality, I guess !.

I think we should all learn to be comfortable in our skin. To be comfortable in our element, for real societal growth to happen.

If you are wicked, be wicked don’t perform being nice. If you are nice, be nice, don’t perform wickedness. Let us know you for who you are. So you can also truly analyse your areas of improvement!.

Narangi🌙

Let us not make substack another twitter. Or X, as most call it now.

I think anyone who discrimnates other for how they look, reason or live is simply projecting their insecurities. And the last place I’d expect that to happen is on substack.

If anyone asked me I’d say I came to Substack to process specific things, Friendship, Crushes and write about Love. Only to find myself endlessly having to defend and draft legal notes.

It is indeed tideous. I must say.

Ageism is discrimination based on age and heightism is discrimination based on height. Two terms that I never thought existed till I joined Substack.

I used to say I can’t use X because of the violence unleashed over there. Only to meet that violence making it’s sweet entry into Substack.

People come on here to seek a safe space where their thoughts can find a resting place. People confess to having suicidal thoughts on here. And they get to receive so much love and attention. Having the type of energy that seeks to pull others down will just turn this whole place into such a hell of negativity.

I don’t think anyone has a right to discriminate anyone. No basis whatsoever.

My friend told me we cannot police people’s morals. We cannot police lifestyles.

We can only express ourselves and align ourselves with those who have similae values and principles as us.

With that being said, let’s not make Substack another Twitter. (X).

And let’s not discriminate anyone on whatever basis.

Narangi🌙

Maybe they see the suits first. They see a woman who looks disciplined, focused, ambitious, like she knows exactly what she's doing. Someone who carries herself like she has somewhere important to be and something important to accomplish.

And they're not wrong. All of those things are mine. I am the woman, the myth, the legend. I am.

But I don't think people think deeply enough about what it means to love a woman like that.

I spend so much time writing about the things I would do for my future wife. I'd run the shower exactly the way she likes it. I'd put clothes on the bed for her to try. I'd make her breakfast and bring it to her in bed. I'd sit beside her while she works and bring her whatever she likes to keep her going.

If she's exhausted, I'd notice. I'd give her a massage, surprise her, drive her somewhere when she needs to go. I'd pay attention to the little things because I think love lives in those details. I want to make someone's life softer.

But there is another side to that kind of love that I don't talk about enough. What does it mean to love me?

Because underneath the suits is a woman who gets tired too. A woman who works late. A woman who will sometimes stay up half the night dealing with a difficult case because she cares about her career and wants to do things well. A woman who thinks about bills, responsibilities, the future and everything that needs to be held together.

I am capable of carrying a lot. I know that. But being capable of carrying something doesn't mean I want to carry it alone.

I don't want to be responsible for every bill simply because I'm capable of handling it. I don't want to come home and discover that everything in the household somehow became my responsibility because I'm the organised one. I want a partner. I want us to sit down and know what needs to be paid, what needs to be done and what each of us can contribute. Not because I can't do it myself, but because we're supposed to be a team.

And honestly, for me, the highest form of love is presence.

If we're both working all day and I have to work late into the night, you don't necessarily have to sit beside me until morning. But maybe you make sure the kettle is ready. Maybe you leave my tea where I can reach it. Maybe my study is clean. Maybe my fluffy slippers are beside my desk. Maybe you notice that I've been working for hours and quietly make my life a little easier.

I'm a tea person, not a coffee person. Do you know how I take my tea? Do you know what kind of vanilla milkshake I like? Do you know what I look like when I'm exhausted?

Do you know that sometimes I'll become so absorbed in something I'm working on that I'll forget to take a proper break?

Do you know the things that make me feel cared for?

Because I want to know yours too. I want to know what makes your mornings easier, what makes you feel safe, what makes you laugh after a terrible day, what kind of affection you like, what you need when you're overwhelmed. I don't want to simply love you. I want to learn you.

And I want freedom too. I don't want to be forced into a particular version of womanhood just because of how I look or what I wear. Don't look at the suits and decide that I must always be strong. Don't look at my ambition and assume I don't need tenderness. Don't look at the fact that I can lead and decide that I never want to surrender responsibility for a while.

Sometimes I will lead. Sometimes I will want to be taken care of. Sometimes I'll be the one making breakfast, and sometimes I'll be the one sitting at the kitchen counter while you make mine. I want to be able to explore every version of myself without being forced into a role. I want to be loved into softness, not told that I have to be soft in a particular way.

And there are things I know I want from a relationship. Presence is one of them. I don't want a marriage where we're constantly living separate lives and calling ourselves partners from a distance. I don't want someone who is perpetually somewhere else while I'm building a life here.

If we're settling down, I want us to actually settle down together. I want shared mornings, shared errands, shared responsibilities, shared jokes, shared exhaustion and shared victories.

I want to know that when I come home from a difficult day, there is a person who knows me. And I want to be that person for someone else.

That's the part people don't always see when they look at the woman in the suit. They see the lawyer. The ambition. The discipline. The confidence. The woman who looks like she has everything handled. But being loved by me shouldn't mean being loved only by the woman who has everything handled.

There is another woman underneath all of that. The one who wants her tea made exactly the way she likes it. The one who wants someone to notice when she's tired.

The one who wants to be cared for without always having to ask.

The one who wants someone to sit beside her while she works, even if neither of them says much. The one who wants to be someone's home while also having someone be home for her.

I know how to love loudly. I know how to make someone's life beautiful. But I'm learning that love isn't only about what I'm willing to give. I have preferences too. I have needs too. I have a way I want to be loved.

So, to the woman who will one day love me, I hope you understand that I will make your life softer. I will notice the little things. I will learn your preferences. I will celebrate your victories and sit with you through your difficult days.

But I hope you'll do the same for me.

Because behind the suit, behind the ambition, behind the woman who looks like she can handle everything, there is simply a woman who wants to come home and feel cared for too.

I will make your life softer.

Please make mine softer too.

I don't consciously know you yet. I haven't met you. I don't know your name, your laugh, your coffee order, or the little thing you do when you're trying not to smile.

But sometimes I wonder if I've already been somewhere with you. Not with you, exactly. Just… near you.

Maybe we've been in the same room and never looked at each other. Maybe I was sitting in a café drinking coffee while you were somewhere across the room, taking a milkshake. Maybe I was complaining to a friend about my day while you were outside, waiting for someone. Maybe we stood in the same queue. Took the same matatu. Walked down the same street. Sat in the same cinema.

Maybe we went to the same school. Maybe you were there on a day I remember for something completely different. Maybe I passed you in a corridor and thought nothing of it.

And maybe, somewhere in the universe, there was a tiny red string between us that neither of us knew existed.

That's what they call the red string theory, right?

The idea that two people who are destined to meet are connected by an invisible red thread. It can stretch. It can tangle. It can disappear into the distance. But it doesn't break. I don't know if I believe in destiny.

But I like the thought that my life has been quietly moving toward you without asking me for permission.

Because what if we've already crossed paths? What if you've already been in the background of one of my memories? What if there's a picture somewhere where you're accidentally in the corner and I have never noticed?

What if we've both sat in the same restaurant, just at different tables? What if you once ordered something I love from the same menu? What if you have walked through a place that means something to me, completely unaware that one day it will mean something to both of us?

Maybe we've already been living parallel versions of the same story.

You, becoming you. Me, becoming me. Both of us having conversations, making mistakes, growing up, loving people who weren't meant to stay, learning what we will and won't accept, becoming softer in some places and stronger in others.

And all this time, somewhere ahead of us, there's a moment we haven't reached yet. The moment when I finally look at you and realize:

Oh. It's you.

Not because I'll recognize your face. But because suddenly all the almosts will feel like they were leading somewhere. Maybe that's the strangest thing about the red string. It's not necessarily that it brings two people together.

Maybe it simply means that before you know someone is important, they can already exist somewhere in the architecture of your life. A stranger in the same café. A girl in the same classroom. Someone walking past you on a Tuesday afternoon. Someone whose name you don't know yet. And maybe that's you.

Maybe I've already been a few feet away from my future wife and had absolutely no idea.

So, baby, wherever you are; I hope you're living. I hope you're becoming. I hope you're laughing with your friends and finding your favorite places and figuring yourself out.

I hope you're drinking your coffee exactly the way you like it. And if we've already met without knowing it, I hope we get another chance. Because I would like to meet you properly. Not as two strangers who happened to occupy the same room.

But as two people finally discovering that, all along, there was a thread between us.And maybe one day I'll look back at all those ordinary places….

the cafés, the classrooms, the streets, the random afternoons, the almost-meetings……..

and wonder how funny it is that you were there. And I was there. We just weren't ready to notice each other yet. Maybe that's my red string theory.

Maybe the universe doesn't always introduce people. Sometimes it just puts them in the same places first.

And waits.

Until they're ready to look up.

I’ve always been on top, it’s no secret I like to be in control. But in an instant, I lost all my dominance just by looking at you. My eyes ended where yours began, and my skin melded seamlessly into yours. My heart was racing, my temperature climbing off the charts as we lay skin against skin. There you were, your head resting between my thighs, worshipping the very crown of my femininity.

​I was completely breathless, able to gather only quiet, quick moans from deep within my chest. My hands were pinned above my head while your hair was held back out of the way; anyone watching could tell you knew exactly what you were doing. With your tongue you stroked, and with your fingers you parted, heaven has never felt so close. Who knew being worshipped could taste this overwhelmingly sweet? My heart, my mind, and my mouth all screamed your name. You truly are everything you think you are, and this Goddess was thoroughly pleased by the devotion before her.

​You stroked my breasts while you worked, the tips of your fingers finding the peaks of my nipples. Love and lust have never made such a breathtaking combination. This was true lovemaking, the absolute polar opposite of just being fucked; it felt like pure love embodied in physical form. If women could get each other pregnant, I’d have fifteen children carrying your genes without a single regret. You worship that well.

​Having you talk me through it and kiss me as I tried to answer left me utterly speechless. Being taken out and then eaten out was the exact childhood romance dream I never knew could yield such intense, trembling pleasure throughout my entire nervous system. Your kisses traced all the way from my nipples, trailing down my stomach, and leaving me shivering down to my inner thighs. You knew every single one of my weaknesses and used them expertly. Reaching the seat of my crown, you took your time, offering slow, steady, and gentle worship, stroking back and forth precisely how I like it, pausing only to talk me through the heat.

​High-pitched screams escaped me as my hands scrambled for the nearest stable thing to hold onto; your back, steady and strong beneath my grip. Being loved has never felt this sure, this whole, or this complete.

If the world were to end today, I’d die a happy woman. A satisfied woman. A thoroughly laid woman.

Purely fantasy🌙

By Narangi