I want to run my fingers through your hair

Have you ever imagined that within you, there’s a space only you know exists? There’s something intoxicating about the way you look at me. You sit there, so pure in how you view the world, as if kindness is a given, as if love is something pure. I watch you from across the room — not with admiration, as you might think — but with deep curiosity. I wonder, how is someone like you even possible — and more importantly, how is it that you trust someone like me?

Maybe I want to live inside your head — not just pass through, but take up residence. I want to dig a hole in your mind, carve out the tiniest space, just enough for me to hide among the tangle of your thoughts. I want to etch myself into the grooves of your brain, melt into you like wet paint that never dries. I want to touch you slowly, gently, as if I were handling something fragile.

I’d look into your eyes as I do it, giving you a small, comforting smile. I’d run my fingers over your skin as if you were a map — every line, every texture leading to another part of myself. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before,” I’d say softly, my voice nearly swallowed by a breath that catches in my throat, right as my fingers trace the softness of your hair. But my hands — they’ve always known exactly where to go.

They move slowly across you — they know when to make you shiver, when to make you pause just long enough to catch your breath. You tremble as I lean closer, as my lips whisper indistinct words right behind your ear. My fingers find the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, deliberately stopping just short of letting us meet fully. Let that small distance make your pulse race.

My skin brushes against yours, but I still leave a small gap — just enough to make you reach for the rest. Your hands grip me with hesitation, as if you’re afraid of breaking me, and I pretend to take a small, shaky breath. I know precisely when to kiss you quickly, only to pull away just as fast, leaving you wanting more. I love the way you don’t know what to do with yourself around me.

As you take a deep breath, trying to reciprocate every subtle touch of mine with whatever you can give, the way my hips press with just enough force to unravel your sanity — but not enough to grant you full satisfaction. I let out a low moan near your ear, the kind of sound crafted to seep into every nerve of your body. I know it works when your hands clutch my back tighter.

I can imagine it all, stripping apart your thoughts piece by piece — searching for the cracks, pressing myself into them, becoming part of those very fractures. I’ll make your heart race faster, make you feel special, make you believe you’re something greater than what you actually are. That’s the game, isn’t it? Making you feel needed, making you believe you’re the center of it all.

You think I’m falling for you. My touch is gentle, my gaze innocent. But I just want to see how deep you’ll sink into this. How long you can hold out before you realize all of this is just a reflection of something that never really existed. You want me to belong to you, which is both funny and ironic. Because in truth, it’s you I’m rewriting — slowly, letter by letter — until you lose all sense of yourself.

I’ll let you see my vulnerable side, give you small fragments of a story you think you’ve worked hard to earn. I’ll show you my scars, making you believe you’re the healer in this tale. Every strand of hair I touch, every word I speak is simply a tool to pull you in deeper.

I want you trapped in my thoughts — to become the quiet doubt that whispers to you when you’re alone, the voice that lingers in your ear. Wondering if I ever truly loved you. Whether what we have is real or just an illusion I crafted to keep you coming closer. You’ll fall — every day, further and deeper — until you don’t know how to climb back out. I’ll make you believe I’m the only thing that makes sense in your bleak world.

And once you’re completely dependent on me, I’ll start to withdraw — slowly, bit by bit — leaving you to starve for the attention I’ll carefully take away piece by piece. You’ll think it’s an accident. You’ll think we were just two people who found each other at the right time. But nothing here is accidental. I know exactly how to make you feel wanted — how to make you think this is love.

I’ll kiss you softly and graze your cheek with the gentlest touch. But every time my lips meet your skin, it isn’t love or tenderness for you — it’s the opposite. I don’t care about your small wounds, the dark parts you share so cautiously. I listen only to know which buttons to press when I want to control you. All your fears? All your trauma? I keep them neatly tucked away, like weapons ready to be used to make you feel small. With me, I can dominate every room you walk into, make you feel insignificant even when I flash you the sweetest smile. You’ll feel I’ve given you everything when I’m really carving deep wounds beneath your skin.

When you start to feel a little stronger, I’ll pull you back in — making sure you never truly break free. I’ll let the wounds fester right before my eyes. I want to be the first thing you think of when something goes wrong, and the last image in your mind when you close your eyes.

I know you’ll try to fight back. There will come a day when you begin to question my intentions, start to see the small cracks in the narrative I’ve built. But don’t worry, I’ve planned for that too. I’ll give you a sliver of hope — just enough to keep you hanging on a little longer. Just enough to keep you standing by my side.

I want to control every aspect of your life until I’m no longer an option, but a necessity. You’ll hate it. You’ll hate me. But more than that, you’ll hate the part of yourself that can’t let go of me. And that’s my favorite part: watching you fight with yourself.

I won’t give you a way out. I’ll only provide a path that convinces you I’m your only light — and, at the same time, the darkness you constantly try to escape. You’ll question whether this is happiness or torment. How everything that once belonged to you slowly became mine. All the dreams you used to have now reshaped into my version — devouring you until what’s left is a faint memory of who you were before me.

Fragile, broken, shattered into pieces — I’ll sip satisfaction from the fact that I can walk away untouched, while you crumble, trying to piece yourself back together. We started out simple, didn’t we? Casual conversations that suddenly seemed deep, like a small crevice you thought was safe — until you slipped and drowned.

You didn’t realize, did you, that my every move was calculated? The way I played with my hair when you spoke, the way I smiled just a little too long, the way I seemed too shy to come closer — but finally gave in with just a little nudge from you. As if I were delicate, as if you were the one who “won” me. What a beautiful illusion.

Sweet, isn’t it? I learned every crack in your life — every fracture I carefully coated with sugar, letting myself flow into them like calm water. With a trembling voice and a vacant gaze that seemed filled with love, I exhaled near your ear once again — carving warmth you mistook for intimacy. I sang your song with words I knew would replay in your head on cold nights when I’m not there.

You noticed, didn’t you? When I’d comb through my hair, bite my nails, fiddle with the chain of my necklace with deliberate fingers. I want you to notice, but not too soon. I want you to feel like I’m exploring something I’ve never done before — raw, honest, vulnerable. But beneath it all, I wear a bitter smile. Nothing I do tonight is honest.

“I… I love you,” I murmured, my voice soft, almost like a secret I wouldn’t share with anyone else. I looked at you like someone who had fallen too quickly, too deeply. You smiled — a small, hesitant smile, but undeniably pleased. Your lips curled, and for the first time, I felt you place yourself entirely in the palm of my hand.

How do I know? Because you lowered your head slightly, your face leaning closer to my hand, almost unconsciously begging — as if I were something irreplaceable.

I wanted to laugh at that moment.

The truth is, I already knew I wasn’t interested in you — not in who you are, at least. I was obsessed with how easily you believed. How your breath caught in your chest, how your eyes searched my face for answers as if I held the solution to everything in your life.

And that was intoxicating.

I stroked your head with calculated movements, every touch measured, every sigh intentional. While you thought I was falling for you, I was only savoring how you disappeared slowly into my shadow.

“I’m scared of losing this moment,” I whispered.

I cradled your head, letting my warm breath brush against your ear. I whispered small, soft words I knew would echo in your head on endless nights, replaying over and over, like a broken record spinning my voice endlessly.

I tilted your face toward mine, my fingers grazing your neck — right where I could feel your pulse quicken.

Too far in now, aren’t you? And yet, I thought I could still drag you deeper. My lips brushed your forehead — cold but warm at the same time — leaving a mark I knew would burn there for a long time.

And when I’m bored? When I decide I’ve taken enough from you? I’ll leave. Not in one grand gesture, but slowly, little by little — disappearing bit by bit — leaving faint traces of something that once felt like home.

You’ll keep searching for pieces of me, replaying moments where you felt I was truly yours. Only to realize that I was never fully there.

There’s no happy ending here — no conclusion where I become a better person because of loving you.

The only real thing is your helplessness — and how beautiful you look in the midst of it all.

But tonight isn’t our last night. There’s still time — there are still lies left to tell, still moments to steal from you before it all ends.

So, may I?

May I run my fingers through your hair, look into your eyes, and…

Lie to you one more time?