Last summer, things looked different.

This time last year, I wasn’t sober, I wasn’t abstinent, and honestly, I wasn’t focused. I was distracted by the fun and the fun included another tied soul attached to someone who was never really right for me.

At the time, he felt right.
Like a fresh start away from something toxic and into something softer.

But we both knew it wasn’t love.
We were both trying to fill voids shaped by our own experiences with abandonment.

For once, I didn’t feel the need to be the “smart one.”
He was having foreplay with my thoughts while controlling my body through his smartphone. I allowed it because I was tired of thinking and not feeling.

The Bluetooth-activated toy felt like the perfect spark of spontaneity to break the ice. There was something about the way he looked at me while slowly exploring the different modes on the app. Careful, entertained, intrigued. Like he was studying me in real time.

We wandered through an art exhibit admiring paintings like The Last Supper and talking about perception.

I could feel him getting into me—and over me—at the same time.

Almost like intrigue and judgment met somewhere in the middle of curiosity… and got stuck there.

He couldn’t figure out what kind of woman I was.

Did I want to take things slow?
Or fast-forward to the ending?
Was I emotionally available or emotionally hiding?
Did I have time on my hands… or were my hands tied?

Ironically, we had our first thing in common:

We were both trying to figure me out.

I could tell I wasn’t someone he was used to.
I think he expected the mysterious, hard-to-get girl I portray online.

But in real life, I’m softer than people assume. More open. More grounded. At that point in my life, I was exploring a different identity during a season of insecurity—and maybe that made me easier to access.

Or easier to misunderstand.

We stopped in front of a photo of Cupid.

He had the app on mode five.

The pulsing rhythm matched my heartbeat and gave me a little anxiety, but not the bad kind. The kind that feels like anticipation. Like butterflies from a middle school crush.

He was smooth and gentle, but still knew how to lead.
Attentive without being performative.
Present without trying too hard. But I was only asking for his presence.

Truthfully, I hate that I didn’t ask for much. But at the time… not much was required.

And maybe that’s what made it dangerous.

By mode seven, we came across a set of oil paintings neither of us cared much for. Suddenly, the silence felt loud.

I got nervous.

Not because of the toy.
Not because of the tension.
But because I realized he gets bored quickly.

What do you do when someone gets bored? you entertain, you perform.

So I then suggested a game of eye spy. Then he found a freestyle feature on the app.

Creative. Spontaneous. Right there in the moment.

Things became fun again.

The game led us into a stained glass exhibit.

And that’s where I saw right through him.

“That looks sad,” he said quietly. “And a little scary.”, I added

Mode nine was intense—but melancholy.

Like he wasn’t ready to escape the expression on my face.

That’s when I realized something about him:

He likes to please people. He likes feeling needed. But he also holds himself back—like he’s terrified of what happens after people finally see him clearly.

Through all the smoke, reflections, and colored light bouncing off the stained glass, I saw it:

He just wanted to be seen and be needed.

And honestly? I wanted him to feel appreciated for seeing me too. For listening. For paying attention. For exploring beyond surface level. but was lust not surface level?

We ended the exhibit inside the mind of a Black woman artist from Detroit.

Every piece felt nostalgic. Familiar. Fitting.

Mode ten was the loudest.

At that point, I forgot other people were even around.

He was the only person in the room.

And I was the only piece of art left hanging—still, curious, waiting to know his true perception of me.

I’ve gotten used to romantic goodbyes.

But this felt different.

This felt like something worth enjoying… even if only temporarily.

He was changing my taste in art, music, and men all at once.

I couldn’t tell if it was the anticipation of summer—or if I was finally becoming comfortable with softness again.

When he was around, things felt lighter.
Like the soundtrack had shifted from emotional thunderstorms to some old-school 90s love song playing through rolled-down windows.

After the exhibit, we went for sushi.

At that point, I started wondering if sushi was becoming our thing—or if I was simply romanticizing breadcrumbs again.

Because then came the plot twist.

The curveball.

I thought he wanted to extend the date into something more. Something heavier. More intimate. More obvious.

Instead, he looked at me casually and said:

“Okay, call me when you make it home.”

And just like that, reality interrupted fantasy.

I realized something almost instantly:

I might’ve been art to him—interesting for the moment, but never essential.
Just another piece in a larger collection.

Part of me wondered if he had plans with someone else afterward. Our slow-burning date suddenly turned into a full-speed goodbye.

Meanwhile, I was still sitting there wearing the toy in my panties while he calmly sent me home.

I must’ve looked disappointed because he laughed softly and said:

“Just not today… but go home and think of me.”

Think of you?

How dare he assume I’d go home and fantasize about him like I didn’t have enough self-control to pull back.

To my surprise, I swallowed the disappointment instead of confronting it.

I didn’t text him.
I didn’t perform desire.
I didn’t chase closure.

Instead, the skies darkened.

The clouds formed.

And yet another tornado warning rolled in.

Because this is what happens when desire gets awakened but never fully met. When attention is offered, then suddenly withheld.

It stirs the storm.

And sometimes the hardest part isn’t missing them.

It’s realizing they made you question yourself instead of questioning them.