Sapphic Physics (Why I Keep Rewriting Gravity)

Dear Reader,

This series began with a question I did not initially realize I was asking: what happens when intimacy enters a place that should not be able to sustain it?

The settings in these pieces are deliberately inhospitable, improbable, or both. There is the vacuum of space, a swimming pool illuminated in the middle of the desert, a greenhouse blooming inside a lunar crater, an opera house overtaken by pomegranate trees, and Death Valley frozen beneath suspended orchids. Each landscape begins with its own severity. Then two women enter it, and the local physics begin to change.

Gravity becomes gentler. Water develops intentions. Petals refuse to fall. Fruit splits open in the dark. Flowers survive vacuum, salt, abandonment, and cold. The world does not merely provide a backdrop for tenderness or desire; it responds to them. It leans closer. It rearranges itself. Sometimes it applauds.

I began experimenting more intentionally with surrealism in March 2026, when I wrote Above the Atmosphere. That piece approached space through romance, play, and the possibility of closeness without ordeal. From there, I became interested in how far a single surreal image could expand and what emotional conditions it might hold. Later pieces moved through sensuality, domestic tenderness, decadence, and trust, but they continued returning to the same underlying impulse. To imagine places where desire does not become punishment and care does not arrive disguised as rescue. The women in these pieces are not being tested by the landscapes. They are not required to conquer them, survive them, or earn the softness they find there. Instead, the impossible places become briefly habitable around them.

What began as a handful of connected experiments has continued to expand into an ongoing body of work, which is why these pieces now live together in their own section of my website. There are more landscapes still forming, more impossible ecosystems to enter, and more variations of tenderness, appetite, trust, and play left to explore. I do not yet know the final boundaries of this series, only that it has not finished unfolding.

These pieces are part romance, part surrealist experiment, and part private cosmology. They are interested in juxtaposition, but even more interested in transformation: what blooms against austerity, what becomes possible under different laws, and what the world might look like if sapphic tenderness were treated not as an interruption of reality, but as one of its governing forces.

xoxo
Missy