I miss someone
I’ve never touched.

There is an ache in me
for a love that hasn’t come,
but still feels close,
like a whisper behind a wall
I can’t tear down.

I dream of gentle words,
of someone who sees me
before I speak
who doesn’t flinch at the weight I carry,
or the silence I keep.

But the truth is,
I’m afraid.

Afraid that when they finally arrive,
they’ll only pretend to stay.
That they’ll trace my scars,
only to learn my softness
and walk away.

Because I’ve seen love
in the wrong hands
how it bruises without meaning to,
how it promises forever
but folds under pressure.

So now I crave something pure
but hesitate to reach.
I want to be known,
but not undone.