There are things I should be jaded about by now.
I’ve lived long enough. Loved hard enough. Been let down with enough flair and silence to justify retreat. But somehow, I’m not. Somehow, the wow still gets me.
You know what I mean.
That first glance across a crowded room where time leans in. That half-smile on a stranger’s face that makes you forget the weight of the world. That scent, soft, specific, unplaceable, that stays with you long after the moment ends. It’s not lust. It’s not fantasy. It’s wow.
And I still feel it. All the time.
I still get floored by the way a woman tucks her hair behind her ear and doesn’t even know she just shifted the atmosphere. I still lose my breath watching confidence walk, not strut, not announce itself, but exist. Present. Absolute.
Women are the most exciting creatures ever placed into existence.
I’ve tried to explain this before, and it always comes out sounding either too romantic or too raw, but it’s both. That’s the point. Their power is not just in the body or the beauty or the intelligence. It’s in how they carry being itself. It’s in how they remember and forget you in the same glance. It’s in how they can teach you the language of worship without ever asking for praise.
Their presence overwhelms. And I welcome the overwhelm.
Because despite everything I’ve endured, every heartbreak, every ego bruise, every silence I was never given an explanation for, I still believe in that moment. The pause. The possibility. The ache behind the eyes when you see someone and think, maybe…
I’m not jaded. I don’t want to be.
I’m still obsessed with the wow. Not because it’s rare, but because it still reaches me. Every single time. And if I ever stop feeling it… I’ll know I’ve lost something I never wanted to live without.