Let's go with a letter version—intimate, raw, and personal. Like something you'd write but never send. Here's that softer side again, mixed with your edge:
To the one who thinks they know me,
I'm not what I seem.
You might see quiet and think it means soft.
You might see distance and call it cold.
But the truth is—I just don't hand pieces of myself to people who don't know how to hold them.
I love the ocean because it speaks without words.
I take late-night drives because the world feels less heavy when it's asleep.
I run to feel my heart beat again, and I swim to silence the noise inside my head.
Books and poetry are where I breathe.
Dark romance? That's not just fiction.
It's the way I love—deep, messy, consuming.
I fall rarely. But when I do, I don't fall. I dive.
I laugh at things I shouldn't.
I read people too well.
I'm a dark empath—I see the pain you hide and the lies you wear,
and I'll still sit next to you without judgment... unless you give me a reason.
I'm an INFJ. A melancholic soul with a sharp mouth.
An introvert with lightning inside.
I don't need noise. I need meaning. I crave silence that feels like safety.
I don't do fake.
I'm not here to be palatable.
My honesty cuts deep, but at least it's real.
You'll always know where you stand with me—
my face doesn't lie, and neither do I.
Don't touch me unless I let you.
And if I get attached?
Yeah, I'm clingy. Possessive.
But only because I've let you in, and that doesn't happen often.
I don't do small talk. I don't do pretending.
I'm not here to please you, flatter you, or follow anyone's lead.
I make memories, not impressions.
I collect moments, not things.
And if you think you've broken me?
You haven't.
You've just reminded me why I keep my circle small
and my armor thick.
I ride alone sometimes.
Me and my bike.
The road.
The wind.
And nothing else but freedom.
So, if you want me—really want me—
know this:
I'm a ride-or-die.
But I don't ride for just anyone.
— Me