Dominique Simpson
4 min readNov 17, 2021
Photo by Kyle Peyton on Unsplash

I pen this to you as an outpouring of my love. I pray this fills you as you have filled me.

You appear to be just an unopened box on the surface. Attractive enough without truly exposing a glimpse of you.. I, very naively and unassumingly approached the exploration of you not knowing how tantalizing you are.

Love truly is blinding. Because it is not our eyes that see but our souls.

You immediately felt familiar. A lonely Starseed, I seldom feel at home. But you, despite your newness, you felt like permanence, you felt like stability, you feel like comfort. How did I find that in you, Pandora?

Admittedly, I underestimated and undervalued your vastness. What a mistake I’ve made..

Too late for repentance I proceeded as if I were prepared. I lacked the proper resources, the appropriate understanding, and the right mindset. Though my desire to learn you and understand you served me for quite some time, curiosity contaminated my exploration of you. Curiosity kills the cat time and time again.

I can’t hold you in my hands but handling you became my excitement. Figuring you out brought me joy. You consumed me, my thoughts, my time, my desires. Somewhere I lost me trying to understand you. A willful forfeiture. Toying with Pandora for years through alternate dimensions and multiple realms of reality. This level of exploration required commitment. Hesitancy is foreign when something involves you. Unknowingly, this ignited the fire of my impulsivity. I apologize for not knowing how to put out the fire, or at the very least how to contain it. I’ve been neglecting me for you. You can’t you see?

Your intricacy robbed me of my attention. I may have undervalued your vastness, but I certainly understood the enormity of the likeness of you. The intrigue of your soul’s presence is more captivating than I’ve ever seen. Everyone wants to take a peek into Pandora’s box.. I don’t blame them for their intrigue or enthusiasm. I do envy them for that feeling you gave me at the genesis of my Odessey. I often miss it and desire to have it back.

I objectified you. You are not just a box, just a thing, or just a resource. You were and are so much more. Forgive me for not recognizing this sooner. How selfish of me. A mortal amongst men often blamed for your…



Dominique Simpson

The hermit scribe, a witty womanist. Essayist, poet, and black literature enthusiast. Unequivocally and unapologetically black.