It started as fire.
O. wasn’t just a woman — she was movement, light, energy. She was tall, magnetic, beautiful in a way that made rooms pause. From Mali, with a dancer’s body and a butterfly tattoo inked with the word freedom. The moment we met, something stirred in me that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
We had one date — just one — but it lit something raw. We laughed, we connected, we vibed. She made me feel alive. Not just intellectually, but viscerally. And that’s what I hadn’t realized I was starving for: something visceral.
But here’s the truth: that fire came with chaos. And my soul — right now — needs calm.
The Night That Exposed Everything
It should have been a beautiful evening. But from the start, something felt off.
The shops I needed were closed. Power outages. My outfit didn’t sit right. It was like the night fought back against ease.
Then came the micro-aggressions. First, some guy making a disrespectful comment about me and O., then asking her to spin for him like she was entertainment. Later, two boys on the beach approached us uninvited — maybe trying to sell something, maybe just to provoke. I stayed calm. Until one of them touched her hair. That’s when I stepped in. It nearly turned physical.
An older man stepped between us. And just like that, the magic of the evening cracked.
I was no longer on a date. I was on guard. Alert. Hypervigilant. And suddenly I realized — I wasn’t with a partner. I was protecting someone from a world that wouldn’t let us be.
The Post-Date Spiral
I told myself I’d give it another shot. We planned a rooftop evening. I wanted to believe it was just a bad night. That the tension was circumstantial. That maybe I was overreacting.
But I wasn’t. The anxiety didn’t leave. And deeper down, I knew: this wasn’t a one-off. This was a preview.
O., for all her vibrance, represents something I’ve lived before: passion laced with unpredictability. A relationship where I’m not at ease — I’m in strategy mode. Where I’m not growing — I’m managing. And I’ve outgrown that.
The Grief of Letting Go
Don’t get it twisted — I didn’t walk away because I didn’t care. I walked away because I did.
I cared about how she made me feel — present, electric, wanted. I cared about her joy, her rawness, her authenticity. But I care even more about my peace. About my vision. About what I’m building.
Afitpilot is my life’s work. It needs my full self. And I can’t afford to give fragments of my soul to relationships that destabilize me — no matter how magnetic they feel in the moment.
So I ended it. Gently. Honestly. And it hurt. Not because it was deep — but because it could have been. Because for a split second, I saw the life I used to chase… and I said no.
What I Learned
- Feeling alive doesn’t mean something is aligned.
- Excitement without safety is just adrenaline.
- Being seen is beautiful — but being at peace is holy.
- The universe sends signs. And this time, I listened.
Maybe all the little frictions — the closed shops, the power cuts, the outfit stress, the beach confrontation — were the gods whispering:
“Walter, this is what distraction looks like. You’ve danced in chaos before. Now go build what only you can build.”
I walked away from O. But what I really walked away from… was the part of me still addicted to the flame.
And I walked toward something greater: the fire I light within.
I’m still sad. I’m still human. But I’m clear.
And that clarity is where the real aliveness begins.
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