She did not want the hardship it took for me to arrive.
She was never concerned with the road, nor the weight of the years, nor the failures that shaped me.
She wanted me stripped of my pride.
If only she understood
that a man, more often than not,
possesses nothing more enduring than the last barrier he calls pride.
It may sound severe.
Yet society plants it in us,
the world reinforces it,
until we mistake it for nature rather than choice.
Painful, this realization.
Twenty-four springs.
The war between myself and myself remains unresolved.
Not a passing conflict,
but an internal system of construction and demolition,
of doubt and conviction,
of seeking knowledge, philosophy, and what lies beyond the surface.
It is a war against my own limits—
not to rise above others,
but to expand within myself.
And in the midst of all this,
I am asked to abandon my pride.
Would you resent me if I refused?
Or if I stood before you unguarded,
would I become nothing but exposed fragility?
If I dismantle a wall built over twenty-four springs,
will it be the beginning of care,
or merely the perfect moment
to test how deep the blade of desire can enter?
I am a war deferred,
structured beneath the name “self.”
No truce.
No white flag.
Only vigilance.
If you realize you have reached the furthest point anyone has ever reached within me,
will you remain?
Or does arrival itself extinguish longing?
This is not reproach.
Only clarity.
Human desire rarely survives fulfillment.
At its peak, it cools.
At its completion, it withdraws.
Not cruelty—
just a pattern we hesitate to admit.
I know you may step away
the moment I lower my defenses.
Because peaks do not endure,
and what we name passion
is often only a prolonged impulse
we mistook for destiny.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 3:00 PM UTC
She did not want the hardship it took for me to arrive.
She was never concerned with the road, nor the weight of the years, nor the failures that shaped me.
She wanted me stripped of my pride.
If only she understood
that a man, more often than not,
possesses nothing more enduring than the last barrier he calls pride.
It may sound severe.
Yet society plants it in us,
the world reinforces it,
until we mistake it for nature rather than choice.
Painful, this realization.
Twenty-four springs.
The war between myself and myself remains unresolved.
Not a passing conflict,
but an internal system of construction and demolition,
of doubt and conviction,
of seeking knowledge, philosophy, and what lies beyond the surface.
It is a war against my own limits—
not to rise above others,
but to expand within myself.
And in the midst of all this,
I am asked to abandon my pride.
Would you resent me if I refused?
Or if I stood before you unguarded,
would I become nothing but exposed fragility?
If I dismantle a wall built over twenty-four springs,
will it be the beginning of care,
or merely the perfect moment
to test how deep the blade of desire can enter?
I am a war deferred,
structured beneath the name “self.”
No truce.
No white flag.
Only vigilance.
If you realize you have reached the furthest point anyone has ever reached within me,
will you remain?
Or does arrival itself extinguish longing?
This is not reproach.
Only clarity.
Human desire rarely survives fulfillment.
At its peak, it cools.
At its completion, it withdraws.
Not cruelty—
just a pattern we hesitate to admit.
I know you may step away
the moment I lower my defenses.
Because peaks do not endure,
and what we name passion
is often only a prolonged impulse
we mistook for destiny.
