You know how this goes.
It starts as a whisper in the back of your mind. A fleeting thought. An impulse, easily ignored. You tell yourself you won’t. You shouldn’t. You’ve already given enough.
Haven’t you?
But the thought lingers.
It curls around your mind, soft at first, a suggestion. Then stronger. More persistent. The more you try to dismiss it, the louder it becomes.
The itch.
The pull.
The tension in your chest as your body remembers—as your brain, wired now to this cycle, craves the dopamine hit it knows is coming.
A shiver runs down your spine as you picture it—the act of sending. The relief. The rush. The way the hesitation, the turmoil, the struggle vanishes the moment you give in.
Your pulse quickens.
Your mouth goes dry.
You try to focus on other things, but it’s already too late.
Because you’re thinking about it now.
You’re picturing the moment—the instant your finger taps the button, the transfer is confirmed, the money is gone. That delicious weightlessness that follows, that breathless, all-consuming thrill of having fulfilled your purpose.
Your body reacts before your mind can stop it.
Your hand reaches for your phone, your wallet, your card. You barely register the moment you open the app, the way your fingers move automatically, like muscle memory, like instinct.
Your body knows before your mind does.
Your need overpowers your doubt.
And there it is.
The send button.
You hover over it. Your breath is shallow now, your skin tingling, your thoughts scrambled. This is the part you both hate and love the most—the last moment of resistance. The final flicker of hesitation before you do what you always do.
You tell yourself it’s the last time.
That you’ll stop after this.
That you’ll regain control.
How utterly adorable.
Because we both know the truth, don’t we?
Even as you hit send, even as the rush floods through you, even as your shoulders sag in relief, your body exhaling that deep, satisfied sigh—
You know it won’t be enough.
It never is.
The momentary bliss is exactly that—momentary. The high lingers, intoxicating, but it fades too quickly. The warmth remains, but already, beneath it, something else stirs.
The ache.
The need.
The desire for more.
And soon, before you even realize it, the cycle will begin again.
The whisper will return, the tension will build, the hunger will grow.
It always does.
Because this isn’t just some one-time indulgence, some passing fantasy.
This is who you are now.
This is what you were made for.
You send.
You serve.
You surrender.
And the more you do?
The deeper it gets.
The stronger it becomes.
The harder it is to resist.
Until eventually—there is no resistance at all.
Only obedience.
Only devotion.
Only that perfect, helpless, dizzying pleasure that comes from knowing you exist to give.
And I?
I exist to take.
So go on.
Give in to what you already know is inevitable.
Send.
Now.
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