Soul

< Soul > a quiet corner made of journal pages, winter skies, and thoughts left unsaid. Here, you’ll find pieces of my mind through writings inspired by books, tea-stained evenings, and the beauty of feeling too deeply. An ENGENE at heart, sometimes Sunghoon is the main image to my posts, sometimes landscapes only, whichever mirrors the words best.

I don’t want another almost.

Another body beside mine

while our souls stand miles apart.

I want someone who touches me

like they’ve been looking for me for years.

Someone whose voice feels dangerous in my ear,

whose hands make the whole room disappear.

I want tension so thick

it feels sinful just standing too close.

Late nights. Slow smiles.

That look across the room that says

"come here before I lose my mind".

Set me on fire with intention.

With devotion.

With the kind of desire that doesn’t vanish by morning.

I’m tired of temporary people

trying to play permanent roles in my life.

I want the right one.

The one who kisses me like a confession,

holds me like a secret,

and makes love feel less like a wound

There are days

when I feel the quiet urge

to pull them closer.

Closer than words,

closer than comfort

close enough

that their scent stays on my clothes

long after they’ve gone.

I want the ordinary things

to feel sacred with them.

Making coffee in the morning,

placing the warm cup in their hands,

stealing a sleepy kiss

before we both rush into the day.

I want to hold someone

not just with my arms

but with the certainty

that we belong somewhere together.

To walk through the night

whispering sweet nothings

when we should probably be sleeping,

our hands intertwined

as if letting go would make the moment disappear.

And on quiet afternoons

to walk through forests side by side,

holding their hand tightly,

feeling the world grow small around us

until nothing else matters

except the two of us

moving gently through it.

Because my love for you

feels like water.

It fills the room slowly,

quietly rising along the walls

until there is nothing left

that isn’t touched by it.

And I feel myself sinking,

drowning in the depth of it

but I’m not afraid.

Because even as I drown,

I crave your attention

in a way that feels almost unbearable,

as if my lungs forget their purpose

whenever I don’t know

that you’re safe,

that you’re okay,

that you’ve finally allowed yourself to rest.

I imagine you lying in your bed,

the noise of the day gone quiet,

your thoughts drifting

and I want them to land on ME.

To stay there.

To choose me, even in silence.

I’m so deeply into you

that joking feels dishonest now.

There’s nothing light about this anymore.

It isn’t funny.

It’s consuming.

It’s unsettling how easily your words reach me,

how they slip into my chest

and turn cold moments warm

without asking permission.

I feel bound to you,

my neck caught in the soft authority

of your necktie

tight, deliberate,

like a leash that keeps me close.

And the truth is,

I don’t want to loosen it.

I don’t want distance.

I don’t want escape.

Just show me the way.

Tell me where to stand,

how to move toward you,

and I will come

willing, present,

careful not to break the moment.

Because when everything else grows quiet,

when the world loses its edges,

you remain.

And right now,

Grief doesn’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes it settles in the body as a tiredness that sleep can’t touch.

It’s the kind of exhaustion that stays even when you lie down, even when you try to be kind to yourself. The kind no one seems to understand, because it doesn’t look dramatic it just feels endless.

They say, accept your emotions, as if acceptance were simple. As if feelings don’t come in waves too intense to hold alone. How do you accept something that overwhelms you when there is no one there to witness it with you?

Solitude has been my companion since childhood. A cold blanket I learned to wear early, wrapped so tightly around me that no one ever managed to take it off.

Sometimes it keeps me safe. Sometimes it keeps me warm. And sometimes its so tight around me I can't breathe. it feels exactly like loneliness.

I can’t get enough of you not in a loud way, but in the way I want to be closer, to learn the shape of your silence, to stay.

I want to hold you carefully, to treat you with a gentleness that doesn’t ask for anything back. To bandage the wounds you don’t talk about, with patience, with hands that don’t rush.

I want to hug you so tightly that our scents begin to blend, until I can’t tell where you end and I begin. Until your warmth stays on me even after we let go.

I want to hold the umbrella when it rains, so you don’t have to worry about the sky. To kiss each of your fingers one by one, as if reminding them they are safe.

I am learning how to be vulnerable without running away.

Sometimes closeness makes my chest tighten, and I mistake safety for danger. But it isn’t the present that scares me it’s the past knocking on the door with familiar hands. Toxic love. Unsteady homes. Old fears that learned how to speak first.

I forget, sometimes, that I am an adult now. That I can hold myself when memories try to undo me. That I can choose who gets to see the tender parts of me.

The version of me at fourteen would be surprised that I am still here, still hoping, still believing love might arrive gently.

Tonight I understand something new: love was never reserved for others. It was meant for me too. I deserve affection. I deserve care. And not everyone I meet is a repetition of my past.

I went to the balcony to smoke and I started thinking..and thinking.

Whats wrong exactly, I asked myself.

I crave a warm touch sometimes.

Not in a sexual way, not in urgency

but in the way that means belonging.

A touch that stays, that reassures,

that says 'you’re not alone' without needing words.

I long for someone kind,

someone who checks on me

and asks how my day went

because they want to know, not because they have to.

Not obligation but devotion and need to know the part of my story.

There are moments when solitude feels like a blessing.

It gives me space to breathe, to grow, to learn myself.

I work a lot, I say it's better not to pull someone in this chaotic roller coaster of my life.

But there are other moments when it feels cursed,

when the quiet presses too hard

and the need for closeness becomes heavier than the silence.

when i am coming tiredly from work

and there's no one to hear

at the entrance of my home.

I don’t want to be desired.

I want to be kept.

To be held close in a way that feels safe,

familiar, human.

Maybe all of this longing isn’t weakness.

Maybe it’s just the heart remembering

that connection doesn’t have to burn

and if it does its not from bad intentions is

In the cold night of December... I am thinking.

I miss a feeling from my past,

A person..

and it took me a long time to admit

how much I suffered because of her.

I replay moments I should’ve let go of,

hold onto memories that only taught me pain.

If I could, I’d erase the thoughts,

the echoes of her voice,

the version of me that stayed too long.

Some people don’t leave scars on the skin

they leave them in the mind,

in the way you love after,

in the way you hesitate.

I don’t want to live there anymore.

I want new memories,

new hands, new words,

someone who changes my perspective

instead of breaking it.

I want to let someone new in

not to replace the past,

but to finally move beyond it.

To create a future where the past becomes so distant,

It feels like a warm August evening

when I imagine myself holding you.

The air is heavy with things unspoken,

with moments that almost existed.

And then I realize

there’s no one in my memory.

No hands I once knew,

no story I can return to.

It never happened.

Maybe that’s what hurts the most:

missing a connection I never had.

Wanting closeness, warmth, familiarity...

yet keeping the door half closed out of fear.

I crave to be seen,

to belong somewhere quietly,

but I’m afraid that if I let someone in,

they’ll leave with the parts of me

Parts I’ve barely learned to hold myself.

So I stay here,

nostalgic for a feeling,

lonely for a person who doesn’t exist,

learning how to sit with the ache

of wanting love**

There was a time when love felt easy

when I could hand my heart over without trembling,

when I believed that being seen was the safest thing in the world.

But she came like sunlight,

and left like a storm.

I loved her. God, I did.

She was the apple of my eye,

the soft pulse beneath everything I dreamed of.

And then one day,

she was gone

vanishing quietly,

like a chapter ripped out of a book I was still reading.

“It’s not your fault,” she said.

Then whose fault is it?

“You’re a good man,” she whispered.

Then why are you leaving?

“You have such a pure soul.”

Then why are you breaking it into pieces?

Since then, something in me closed.

I built walls around the ruins,

stitched silence over the ache.

Now, every time someone reaches close,

I flinch, not because I don’t want love,

but because I remember how it feels

when love turns to absence.

I want to believe again.

I want to feel warmth that doesn’t fade,

to ask someone to stay,

to rest my tired soul in a gentle embrace

and not fear the breaking that might come after.

But for now…

my poor heart is hidden,

tucked away in a quiet place.

Maybe it’s healing.

Maybe it’s just waiting

for someone brave enough to find it