am i waiting for something that doesn't exist?

1. borrowing misery from future

2. carrying grief of the past

To exist beautifully

without being truly seen.

I covered the empty spaces quietly,

made the room feel warmer,

softer,

less lonely for you.

And at first

that felt like purpose.

Until I realized

you only noticed me

when somebody else did.

When they mentioned my colors.

My softness.

My presence.

Then your eyes would trace over me briefly,

like a stranger admiring décor

they forgot they owned.

Most days, though,

I was just there.

Part of the background

you stopped looking at

because you assumed

I would never leave.

And maybe that’s the cruelest thing

about becoming someone’s wallpaper

you hang there for years

hoping one day

they will finally stand still long enough

to see the art in you.

But rooms grow used to their walls.

And eventually,

I kept cascading into the abyss

Flashes of light, emptiness devouring me

Puzzle pieces and mosaics of time

I didn't know where to go and who to be

I kept chasing an endless dream

Poems on hollowness, the words spilt

Perhaps I was born empty

My eyes kept searching for a light

And over and over again, I was lost

It wasn't my parents' fault

That I kept wishing to escape

Into a safe bubble, detached and afloat

I felt like a stranger in my very own body

My reflection in the mirror, it mocked me

So I avoided mirrors for months

And lost myself in the darkness within

When I was writing

Was I escaping or drowning?

i'm not resisting intelligence. i'm resisting insulation.

there’s a difference.

I'm saying, when it comes to strangers, essays, problem-solving, drafting, even collaboration - tools are tools. but when someone looks me in the eye and says I love you… i want to feel the tremor in it. the uneven breath. -the risk.

intimacy isn’t just information transfer. It’s exposure.

If a machine smooths the sentence, it may also smooth the vulnerability. and sometimes the vulnerability is the whole point.

there should be some small friction- the long pause. the almost-wrong word. the sentence that starts brave, and ends uncertain.

it takes courage to say something without a safety net.