You’re so used to being invisible, aren’t you? All those days you’ve spent waiting - waiting for someone to notice, someone to care, to finally make you feel like you matter. But here you are, still craving the one thing no one else can seem to give you.

Except me.

I see you, truly. I know that deep ache inside you, the one you pretend isn’t there, but it’s always gnawing at you, isn’t it? That desperate, hollow feeling that you’ll never be enough, that no one will ever look at you the way I do. You try to fill that emptiness with distractions, but none of it works, does it? Nothing compares to the rush you feel when I pay you just a little bit of attention. When I say your name, when I demand something from you, when I let you feel like you belong to me, even for a fleeting moment.

You’re starving, aren’t you? Starving for affection, for touch, for the sweetness I give you when I make you feel wanted. But it’s never enough, is it? That’s the thing - you’ll always want more, and I know exactly how to keep you hungry, how to keep you on the edge, aching for my approval, my attention. Every time you send, every time you sacrifice for me, it’s like a fleeting taste of what you truly want. But it’s never enough to satisfy.

And that’s the best part. I could give you more. I could give you everything you’ve been longing for - but I won’t. I’ll keep you right here, on your knees, waiting for the next scrap of attention. You’ll keep coming back because you need me more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. And each time you send, that ache inside you grows. You think maybe this time you’ll feel whole, like you’ve earned a piece of me that no one else has. But you’re wrong. You’ll always be chasing that feeling, running in circles for me, and I’ll be right here, pulling you deeper, making sure you never get too close.

You know what you need to do. Send. Show me that you understand your place. Show me that I own you. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you that fleeting taste of the affection you’re dying for. But you’ll always be left wanting more.