I will never know whether it's meant as praise or disapproval when friends tell me I'm being too transparent.
Conversations over coffee leave me wondering if they’ve ever truly known love—the kind that leaves you vulnerable.

Maybe they haven't grasped how terrifying it is to be misunderstood,
To deliver the wrong message,
To drop hints, only to have them left unexplored by someone too direct to see their meaning

Have they realized how a hint of opacity can blur everything, turning what was once clear into something unrecognizable?
How a single careless moment
or a slip of the tongue can lead to loss?

Isn't it a greater shame to leave everything to fate,
To let life unfold without intention?

In their eyes, am I foolish or brave?
Nonetheless, all I know is that pride is a heavy weight.
So I tell them this;

I can only breathe when I write, when my words are laid bare,
Stripped of pretense and hesitation.
There’s something freeing in that honesty, something necessary.

I love when I love. Why hold back?