i met her in the golden era of algorithms.
a blue-check siren call—handstands and hash-tagged divinity—
and me?
just a girl with calloused palms
and a vision nobody could see yet
in the back of a building no one could find.
but somehow,
she did.
she saw something in me—
not the broken, not the act, not the brand—
but the part that was feral, burning,
half-wild and half-willing to die trying.
she didn’t hesitate.
she co-signed the chaos.
showed up with the light and the ladder.
dragged me up.
she knew what it cost.
to open your ribcage in public,
to be the first girl to burn,
to talk about colonization in a room full of lululemon.
when the mob came, she didn’t look away.
she stood shoulder to shoulder with me,
white knuckles, open throat,
like a woman who knew exactly what it meant
to use her privilege as a weapon for, not against.
she saw through the trembling.
the hypervigilance.
the moments where i wanted to disappear into the floor.
and instead, she laid one down.
clean. soft.
said: “you can land here.”
and i did.
when i thought the world might spit me out,
she wrote the check.
sent the wire.
packed the bag.
scrubbed the floor.
made room.
i never had to ask.
she came from another orbit—
poised, patient, made of pause—
while i burned through cities with my teeth.
i was fire.
she was the calm that held it.
we didn’t speak the same native tongue,
but we spoke fluently in each other.
she let me rant about empires and power and patriarchy,
even when it wasn’t easy, even when it wasn’t hers.
we fought. we listened. we cried.
and cried.
and cried.
we’ve crossed more borders than some people cross streets.
slept on concrete, posed on sand,
cried in the jungle, and laughed
til we forgot who started the fight.
she’s the only person who ever took me anywhere
just because she wanted to.
no hidden agenda. no branding deal.
just us against the entire fucking world.
she’s the only one who ever said the word brilliant
without mockery.
without flattery.
like a fact.
like gravity.
we didn’t envy each other because we couldn’t.
we weren’t built the same.
we were forged for different wars.
and still—
we always knew when to carry the other
off the battlefield.
i don’t know what kind of cosmic contract we signed.
but i know this:
you never left me behind.
not once.
not when i was broke,
not when i was broken.
not when the whole damn world tried to silence me
and i was too tired to scream.
and i would do it all over again.
eight million times.
every war.
every floor.
every country.
every night we couldn’t sleep
because the truth was too loud
and the world was too stupid to hear it.
i’d do it all again
for you.