I keep catching myself
thinking about this one thing,
soft, perfect,
the kind of comfort i shouldnt miss this much.

i picture it in my arms,
not imagined,
not far away,
but real, something i can feel breathing,
like its close enough to keep forever.

and i know exactly
what I’m wishing for.
not just a stuffy,
but my stuffy.

the one that feels
a little too perfect to exist,
except, you do.

you make the world softer,
like morning light through blinds.

yet somehow heavier too..
like a weight i dont want to set down
just to prove my strength

every laugh with you
fills the cracks I thought would stay forever,
but loving you also opens doors
to fears i've nailed shut.

i hold your hand
and feel so soft yet breakable,
like glass wrapped in velvet.
you are the calm and the storm,
and I am always both grateful and afraid.

still
i choose the risk,
the way my chest twists around your name.
because even though its complicated,
you are worth it.

The pills smooth the static,
quiet the rattling wires in my chest.
For a while,
I remember what it feels like to breathe without splinters.

But the bell rings,
the halls swarm,
and suddenly the air is teeth again.
every glance is a spotlight,
every sound, a hammer.

My calm dissolves
under fluorescent ceilings an hour at a time—
until the medicine feels
like water poured
into. a. burning. house.
...
I swallow each dose
like a prayer,
but school drowns it out,
and I’m left wondering
if healing is meant to vanish
the moment I walk through those doors.

I drag myself through the weeks and the noise,
holding a bottle that promises
more than it delivers.

Maybe it’s me.
Maybe nothing’s enough to quiet a storm
that keeps finding new ways to break.

and so i keep swallowing,
keep hoping,
keep sitting in classrooms
where my heartbeat is louder
than the teacher’s voice—
pretending the medicine is working,
pretending i am too.

It waits in corners,
a whisper dressed in shadows,
calling me back
with promises of silence.

The thought presses sharp
against the edge of my mind,
like a blade I no longer hold
but still remember.

Some nights it hums
like a song I once knew by heart,
soft, dangerous,
asking me to sing along.

But my hands stay empty.
My skin stays whole.
I breathe through the ache
and let the music pass.

I will not dance
to that rhythm again.
Even if it circles me forever,
I keep walking forward.

i swore i was steady,
that i’d built walls high enough
to quiet the wanting.
i told myself
i could learn to let go.

but last night,
you spoke,
and every word
was gravity.

suddenly,
i wasn’t standing still anymore.
i was tumbling—
the way i did at the start,
when even the sound of your name
could set my pulse off-beat.

you laughed,
and it lit me up
like the first time
i realized i could never unsee you.

and here i am,
caught in your orbit,
dizzy with the sweetness
of rediscovery.

i don’t know if you know it,
but i’m falling,
again.

she’s there,
hands trembling on the screen,
heart heavier with each second.

no reply, no sign, no sound...
just the weight of waiting,
the ache of being unseen
by the one she’s already given
so much of herself to.