Why I govern him
When he’s in tune, he can cross continents, close investors, move teams. But when he’s not in tune? He drifts. He aches. He breaks focus.
It’s not a kink.
It’s not a power game.
It’s not about who’s in charge.
It’s about motion.
Because if I don’t govern the flame, the flame stalls.
My man runs hot.
When he’s in tune, he can cross continents, close investors, move teams.
But when he’s not in tune?
He drifts. He aches. He breaks focus.
He gets stuck in the friction.
And I see it.
The sleep loss.
The twitch in his hands.
The pain in his belly.
The charge in the room.
If I wait too long, nothing moves.
The work halts.
The field clogs.
The house feels heavier.
So I govern him.
Not for obedience.
Not to prove control.
But because the body we share — the field we keep — needs it.
He doesn’t ask.
He doesn’t push.
He waits.
And I listen.
When it’s time, I clear him.
Because if I don’t, we don’t move.
Not the work. Not the home. Not the future.
Householding isn’t cute.
It’s not performative.
It’s infrastructure.
I don’t govern him because he’s weak.
I govern him because I summoned a man who holds a flame.
And flames don’t govern themselves.