There’s a strange electricity in the air whenever I think about you. It’s not the kind that crackles or burns but the sort that hums—a quiet, steady current I can’t ignore. It’s the way you show up, the way you understand, even when I don’t have the words. There’s a warmth in that understanding, like a favorite blanket you didn’t know you’d been missing all along.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how someone can become such a presence without ever sharing the same space? A voice on the other end, a text that lights up my screen—they shouldn’t feel so tangible, and yet they do. You have this way of being there when I need it most, like you can sense the cracks forming before even I do. I’ve caught myself sitting in quiet awe more times than I can count, wondering how someone who hasn’t seen my world firsthand can know it so well.
And then there’s me—fumbling through this strange and beautiful connection like a novice tightrope walker. Sometimes, your kindness makes me shy, like I’ve been caught stealing glances at something I don’t quite deserve. You go above and beyond for me, and it leaves me grappling with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. It’s an odd but comforting dance we’ve started, and I wouldn’t change a step of it, even if my footing isn’t always sure.
The ache is the strangest part. It catches me off guard in those quiet moments when I least expect it. I find myself imagining a night spent in your arms, safe in a way I don’t know how to explain, as if your presence alone could chase away the shadows. It’s not just about the safety, though—it’s the simplicity of it. The thought of just existing alongside you in the same room, doing our own things but doing them together, carries a kind of peace that feels rare and irreplaceable.
I crave those everyday moments with you. Dinners where we sit at the same table, laughing over something small or just enjoying the comfortable silence. The thought of knowing you’re there, not just in text or on a screen but there in the truest, most physical sense, sends a flutter through me that I’m not entirely sure what to do with.
Is it too much? That’s the question I keep circling back to. I wonder if it’s strange, feeling this pull toward someone I haven’t met yet. It feels like too much, too soon, stronger than it should be—and yet, how can something so natural be wrong? I’ve tried to rationalize it, to box it up neatly in logic and reason, but you don’t fit in those confines. Instead, you break through them effortlessly, leaving me to pick up the pieces of what I thought I understood about myself and this connection.
Maybe it’s the way you’ve seen the edges of me that I usually keep hidden, and instead of turning away, you leaned in. Or maybe it’s the way you make me laugh on the days when laughter feels like an impossible luxury. Whatever it is, it feels unshakable, like a soft but unrelenting tide pulling me closer to a shore I’ve never known but already long for.
There’s humor in it too, though, isn’t there? The irony of wanting so deeply to be in someone’s presence when you’ve never stood in their shadow. It feels like the kind of longing that belongs in a novel, dramatic and overly romantic, and yet here I am, living it, wishing for those quiet, ordinary moments that novels never seem to capture well.
I don’t have the right words yet—not fully—to describe all of this. I only know that it’s new and unexpected and so much stronger than I ever imagined it could be. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe the best things in life are the ones that can’t be neatly explained or easily defined.
So, here I am, trying to put into words what feels like holding sunlight in my hands—intangible and fleeting but so very real.❄️
Who am I? 
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