Do you ever have that feeling where you don't just want someone to hold you close—you want to be consumed by their embrace?
Not skin against skin, not a passing touch. I mean the kind of closeness that reaches deeper than that. The kind that settles into your bones. The kind where you're wrapped so completely in another person that, for a moment, the rest of the world goes quiet.
Sometimes I find myself imagining it.
A bubble bath. The lights off. Maybe a candle or two. Nothing extravagant, nothing perfect—just romantic. Peaceful. Safe.
I've always loved imagining things like that. Not for now, not even for tomorrow, but for some distant future where I find the one.
And I know that won't happen anytime soon.
It's almost funny, really. I crave so much affection, yet I've never even held hands with a boy. But the truth is, I don't want a boy—I want a man. Someone who knows every part of me and chooses to stay anyway. Someone willing to put in the effort, to learn who I am, and to let me learn who he is in return.
I know I spend a lot of time saying what I want.
But what I rarely say is that everything I want is everything I'd willingly give.
You want a meal at five in the morning? Anything for you, my love.
You need a few hours alone because the day has been cruel to you? I'll be in the other room whenever you're ready.
Those are simple examples, maybe even silly ones, but the meaning remains the same.
And sometimes it aches because I have no one to pour that love into.
Maybe that sounds hopeless. Maybe it sounds dramatic.
But I'd be lying if I pretended otherwise.
I cannot make these feelings up on the spot. They live in me every day. I have a heart I'd be willing to tear out and hand over—figuratively, of course—to the person I love. When I care for someone, I give them my mind, my body, my soul. Every part of me wants to love wholeheartedly.
Perhaps that sounds selfish when I read it back. Maybe expecting that same devotion in return is asking too much.
But I don't want perfection.
I don't expect perfection.
I simply don't want to settle for the bare minimum.
And lately, it feels as though the bare minimum is praised as if it were extraordinary.
I know real love takes time. I know trust is built slowly, piece by piece.
Yet I think that's what makes it beautiful.
Watching their walls come down because they trust you enough to let you in.
Maybe this entry is less of an update and more of a confession.
A quiet admission of something I've carried for a long time.
Tonight, I simply found myself needing to say it out loud.