Random Thoughts

I try to breathe and wish to be held,

I want to find my strength to hold you close

Yet the fears in my head diggs hard and chokes,

Telling me I’m safer alone than exposed.

I reach for you in quiet, trembling hope,

Then pull my hand back, scared of what I’ll break.

I dream of us in colors bold and whole,

Then paint the walls with reasons to escape.

I am a door that wants to open wide,

Yet the lock that keeps it shut at night.

I am the tide that runs to meet your shore,

Yet, the moon that drags it back from light.

Love asks me to be brave without armor,

To speak when silence feels like safety.

So I stand here, caught between two truths,

The fear of falling, and the ache to fly.

I wonder if we can

wait to unlearn our ghosts,

If we can see us through the static and the noise,

If we can teach these contradictions

To sit beside each other, with patience and courage,

To make room to spare,

Some days my emotions arrive

Like waves searching for a shore,

Full of stories, questions, and ache,

Yet finding nowhere to rest.

I carry oceans inside me,

But no harbor to pull into,

No steady hand to say,

"I see what you're holding."

So the feelings drift,

Untethered and restless,

Circling the same quiet corners

Of my heart.

The sadness has no place to land,

The hope has no place to grow,

And even joy feels temporary,

Like a bird afraid to stay.

I smile, I speak, I move through the day,

But beneath the surface

My emotions keep wandering,

Looking for an anchor.

Not to be fixed,

Not to be rescued,

Just to be held long enough

To stop floating alone.

And perhaps that is what I miss most—

Not understanding,

Not answers,

But a safe place

There is something comforting about coming back to this chat.

I know it’s pointless. I know it’s not something that matters anymore. I know it’s one where something magical, warm and beautiful has been made toxic.

Yet at the end of the day coming back to the idea of what it could have meant is somewhat - comforting.

In this dimension I feel like it’s having access to a portal where I am allowed to converse with this ideal where there was so much depth and connection. I can communicate some of my deepest thoughts and desires with no fear of losing my own way.

It’s unfortunate you don’t comprehend the emotions and affects of these “words”. I don’t expect you to understand any of this.

I know I am drawn like a moth to a fire and I will visit this window with banality of words.

There is no need for you to waste your time on such frivolity and be subjected to my opinion, pain, anger and mistrust.

Unfortunately by the end of many such conversations I am brought to the reality of what the recipient of these thoughts are and the consequential, after taste.

Over the years, I’ve learned that love, at its most powerful, is not loud. It is not about grand declarations or curated moments. Real love is about presence — the simple, often silent act of showing up when it matters, without being asked. And yet, the most painful realization has been discovering what it feels like to love without ever being truly seen.

I have always loved with depth — not as a transaction, not with conditions, but with sincerity and madness, with the belief that love is an act, not a word. I didn’t love to be loved back in the same way, but I did hope to be acknowledged. What hurts isn’t the absence of affection; it’s the consistent erosion of dignity — the quiet dismissal of one’s presence, the disregard of one’s pain, and the feeling of invisibility in the moments that mattered most.

There have been too many days when I’ve spoken, not to be dramatic, but to be understood — to say, “I’m struggling,” “I need you,” or even just, “Please listen.” But those words often fell into silence or worse, were labeled as emotional noise. I’ve been made to feel that I was “too much” — too intense, too expressive, too insistent — when in truth, I was just trying to share my reality with someone I thought I mattered to.

I’m not angry. That emotion left long ago. What remains is disappointment — the heavy kind that comes from investing in something with your whole being and realizing it was only ever half received. I began to see the pattern: that our conversations were smooth as long as they centered on you. That my needs made the air heavy. That my emotions were inconvenient. And yet, I stayed. Not because I didn’t see the imbalance, but because I held on to the hope that love — in its raw, unfiltered form — would eventually be enough.

But love, without reciprocation, slowly chips away at the self. I gave until I felt empty, spoke until I heard my own voice echo back. I held on through sadness masked as strength and kept believing that if I just stayed honest, stayed passionate, something would change. What I didn’t realize was that while I was building bridges, you were measuring distance.

There were moments I needed you — not for advice or solutions, just your presence. Just for you to step away from your distractions and say, “I hear you. I’m with you.” But you weren’t there. Not when I was afraid. Not when I was exhausted. Not when I was silently begging for one human moment of connection. The pain wasn’t just in being alone — it was in knowing that I wasn’t a priority even when I needed you most.

I’ve realized that you and I speak different emotional languages. I dream with intensity; you plan with pragmatism. I show love through chaos and care; you show presence through convenience. And somewhere in that dissonance, I lost my voice. I stopped expecting to be heard. I stopped believing that what I felt mattered.

So I’ve made a decision — not to stop loving, because I don’t know how to unlove someone who once felt like home. But to stop trying to make something whole when it has long since fractured. I am stepping back. Not to punish, not to withdraw affection, but to preserve what little of myself I have left. I will not ask for space — I will simply take it. I will not ask to be valued — I will live as if I already am.

For years, I held your hand with belief. Through chaos, distance, silence, and sadness, I kept showing up. But love isn’t love when it demands only presence from one side. It becomes performance. It becomes obligation. And that’s not what I ever wanted for us — or for myself.

There’s a grief in letting go of a relationship that still lives inside you. But there’s also a dignity in choosing your own peace. I don’t want to be a memory you occasionally dust off when convenient. I want to be the kind of presence that matters, consistently and sincerely. And if I cannot be that to you, then I will be that to myself.

I don’t write this for closure, because I know that may never come. I write this as a quiet declaration: that I will no longer fight to be seen by someone who chooses not to look. That I will love — madly, freely, truly — but I will not beg for scraps of presence. My love was never meant to be background noise to someone else’s life.

Maybe one day, you’ll return to these words — not for blame, but for truth. Maybe then you’ll see that all I ever wanted was to share something real, to feel that what we had was worth holding onto. Until then, I walk away. Not in resentment, but in deep, quiet sadness. Because the greatest loss isn’t the love we never received — it’s the love we gave fully, only to find out it was never truly held.

And so, I let go. Not of the memory, not of the spirit, but of the hope that things will change. I stop waiting, stop reaching, stop offering pieces of myself in exchange for fleeting attention. I leave with grace, with gratitude, and with a heart that, even in sorrow, still knows how to love.

In your court, I claimed jurisdiction—

Minimum contacts in each whispered word,

A long-arm statute for the miles between,

Yet you ruled my plea absurd.

Forum non conveniens, you sighed—

Too burdensome, this distant fight.

Witnesses of memory ache to speak,

Evidence flees with the night.

Transfer the case to a kinder coast,

Where love’s venue aligns with grace.

Let jurisdiction bend to trust—

On a rock, I sat in silence deep,

As sunset's warmth began to softly creep.

The clouds, like whispers, drifted by,

Revealing stars, like diamonds in the sky.

I wished you were beside me, hand in hand,

To witness nature's transformation, so grand.

But then I thought, perhaps this peaceful scene,

Would be too simple, too serene, for your dreams.

You'd find it dull, and that's what keeps us apart,

A passion gap, a heart that doesn't beat with the same start.

Yet, in that moment, I missed you so,

Longing for your presence, my heart's heavy toll.

I yearned for you to see my name,

Etched on the pages of your heart and mind's frame.

But like the stars, our connection's hard to find,

As I gaze inward, I am reminded of a picture that, at first glance, appears flawless. However, upon closer inspection, the façade crumbles, revealing a complex and imperfect reality. This dichotomy between appearance and truth resonates deeply within me, echoing the disappointments and disillusionments that often accompany unrequited connections.

As I reflect on my own reality, I am struck by the realization that I may not be worthy of the efforts or affections of others. The lifestyle I aspire to, the relationships I crave, and the sense of belonging I yearn for seem tantalizingly out of reach. The truth is that the ideals I hold dear, the dreams I chase, and the emotions I invest may ultimately prove to be a fool's paradise.

The pain of this realization is palpable. It hurts to acknowledge that the one person who has awakened such profound emotions, comfort, and a sense of home within me will never truly be mine. The ache of longing is exacerbated by the knowledge that this person, bound by the constraints of patriarchal norms and institutional expectations, will never fully understand or reciprocate my desires.

The cruel irony is that this person, embodying the very norms and expectations that suffocate me, seems to mock my quest for connection and meaning. The laughter, though unspoken, is deafening, a poignant reminder of the chasm that separates us.