"The Shape of Longing"

The thing is, reality warps when you're near—
the world bends, colors shift, and suddenly, the air feels too thick to breathe.
Like the universe is pressing in, making space for you, pulling me toward something I can’t name.

In my head, love is something soft, something quiet,
something that fits neatly into my hands without spilling over the edges.
But outside, in the real world, I feel like a stranger to it.
Too small to hold it, too scared to claim it.
As if love is something I was never meant to touch, only witness from a distance.

Maybe I want a love bigger than myself,
one that doesn’t flicker in and out like a dying ember, but devours—
something vast and consuming, something that makes me feel real.
Maybe I crave the kind of presence that makes the emptiness inside me feel less like a burden,
and more like a beginning.

I tell myself I am enough. I whisper it like a prayer, like a spell meant to tether me to the ground.
I tell myself I do not need to be seen to exist.
That I can live in the spaces between, unseen and untouched, and still be whole.

And yet—
I find myself wishing for someone to sit beside me in the dark.
Someone who sees the walls I’ve built, and does not turn away.
Someone who does not flinch when they hear the things I dare not say out loud.
Someone who stays long enough to untangle my monsters,
to press their hands against the ruins of me, and remind me that even wreckage can be rebuilt.

I do not know if you will ever read this.
I do not know if you would understand.
I do not know if, in the quiet spaces between these words,
you can feel the shape of what I am trying to say without saying it.

But if you do—
Know that I am here.
Watching, waiting, existing.
Holding onto the weight of this silence, hoping that maybe, just maybe,
it is enough to reach you.

March 21,2025