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Cummingtonite
A metamorphic amphibole, rich in iron, formed under intense pressure and temperature. Under the polarizing microscope, it reveals pleochroic shades of brown to green, shifting with the angle — like hidden layers exposed only when the light hits just right.
It was daytime when I came to you — not night, not hidden in shadows, but everything between us felt darker, deeper, heavier.
You asked me if I ever loved you.
I said yes. And I meant it.
But I didn’t stay.
The truth is... when you dropped your guard, when I saw the flicker of fear behind your eyes, the weight in your voice, the rawness you tried to hide — that’s when I felt everything. Desire. Confusion. Lust. Love.
And that darker side of you, the one you let slip through the cracks that day…
That’s what undid me.
That’s what turned me on more than anything else ever did.
You apologized for how you were. But you didn’t need to.
Because I understood you — maybe more than anyone ever did.
It was you, exactly like that, that pulled me in so deep it scared me.
You didn’t do anything wrong.
I just wasn’t ready to face the way you made me feel.
So I ran — not from you, but from myself.
From the fire you lit in me that day.
And I want you to know this:
Thank you.
For not hiding.
For showing me more of who you truly are — not the version the world sees, but the one that burns quietly underneath.
Thank you for letting me see that side, raw and powerful.
You didn’t just open me — you revealed me to myself.
Even if it took time, I see it now. You were right.
Now I’m no longer afraid of myself for losing control.
Now you have the power to control me.
Now I understand.
What we have doesn’t need to be explained.
It doesn’t fit in neat boxes or soft definitions.
It’s ours.
Wild, wordless, and burning.
No strings. No cages. Just high temperature and pressure.
And if, one day, you find yourself there again —
unguarded, wanting, dark and real —
know that I might already be watching.
Still waiting.
Still dreaming about the exact moment your hands will find my neck again.
No questions asked, no strings attached.
#cummingtonite#metamorphic#pleochroism#ironmagnesiumsilicate#intenseconnections#complexbond#structuredbypressure#personal#text#thoughts#moods
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#bdsmvibes#dominanceandsubmission#eroticart#sensualpower#fetishstyle#bondageplay#darkromance#eroticfantasy#kinkylifestyle#seductivevibes#mysticaldesire#powerplay#intenseconnection#sensualrestraint#eroticimagination#dc comics#wonder woman#harley quinn#poison ivy
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Eu pertenço a ele. Ou é o que todos pensam.
Nos primeiros meses, os olhares de quem via de fora eram sempre os mesmos: admiração ou espanto, às vezes ambos. Todos viam nele o controle, a força, o poder. Afinal, era ele quem ditava as regras, ele quem mandava. Era ele quem me deixava de joelhos. Para qualquer um que olhasse de fora, eu era o submisso, o que cedia, o que se entregava sem resistência.
E eu amava que pensassem isso.
Amava como ele acreditava estar no comando. Como cada ordem que saía de seus lábios parecia reforçar a ideia de que ele era o dono do jogo. Ele se embriagava com a sensação de controle, e eu permitia. Aliás, eu precisava que fosse assim. Precisava dessa ilusão.
Mas a verdade… ah, a verdade era um segredo só meu.
A cada comando, a cada toque, eu sentia o oposto do que ele imaginava. Não era a dor ou a submissão que me preenchiam. Era o prazer de saber que, no fundo, ele estava ali para satisfazer a minha fome. Ele era apenas um meio para o meu fim. O prazer dele era um eco distante do meu próprio. Eu o usei – e ele nunca percebeu.
Eu me sentia vivo quando era submisso, sim. Mas não porque estava sendo dominado. Eu me sentia vivo porque sabia que ele não era nada al��m de uma ponte entre mim e o que eu mais desejava: aquele êxtase inatingível que só eu compreendia.
Ele achava que era o caçador. Mal sabia ele que sempre foi a caça.

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#lyfechoyces#podcast#motivation#exploring#mentalhealth#transformation#confidencebuilding#wellnessjourney#Youtube
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