Existential Angel

I can picture it but I don’t know how it feels.

For the world to still when his hand finds mine,

for time to lose its rhythm just because he’s near.

They say love is soft, sweet like honey,

the kind that lingers even after it’s gone.

But how long must I wait?

Is it not for everyone?

Why does it hide from me?

I want to love without fear.

To give, completely

not halfway, not cautiously.

I want to hand my heart to someone

and not feel like I’m losing it.

I want to wake up

and not feel alone in my own skin.

I want to find you

whoever you are.

I want to fall in love.

Not imagine it.

Not write about it.

But feel it.

I want a kiss that makes my chest ache,

arms that feel like home in December,

Thirty minutes until I turn twenty-six.

Twenty-six. And the birthday blues are back.

I keep circling around the same thought: twenty-six years old, and what have I accomplished? The answer that lingers in the back of my mind is nothing. I feel like a failure because I’m not where I thought I’d be when I was younger. The teenager who dreamed up her twenties would be disappointed in me.

It’s not like I had a crazy timeline. I can’t even remember if I set goals for my birthday last year. But even so, it should feel like a special day. Instead, it feels like just another Saturday. A Saturday with cake.

Part of me feels like a loser, like all I’ve managed are mediocre accomplishments strung together. Yet another part of me resists making any expectations for this year, afraid that setting them will only make the disappointment sharper when I don’t reach them.

I didn’t see love as something to win or unlock—it was never a prize. I only wanted to reach a place where I could meet it with both hands open, where I wasn’t distracted or weighed down. So I set goals for myself: finish this, achieve that, build stability.

Now most of those things are done, and part of me expected the next chapter to naturally turn the page. But life isn’t linear, and love doesn’t follow the timelines I draft in my head. Readiness doesn’t guarantee arrival.