I think people misunderstand healing.
They make it sound romanticā
like someone will come into your life, hold your broken pieces,
and suddenly everything will make sense again.
But I already healed myself.
Maybe when I was seventeen.
Or maybe earlier.
Around the time people were busy planning confessions,
thinking about love like it was something soft and excitingā
I was lying in bed,
hoping I wouldnāt wake up the next day.
I did, though.
I always did.
And after a while,
surviving stopped feeling like an accident
So noā
I donāt need you to fix me.
I donāt need you to save me.
Iāve already done it on my own.
But sometimesā¦
existing alone feels heavier than it should.
Thatās why I want you.
Not for healing.
Not for rescue.
Justā¦
to take the place of that heavy blanket I wrap around myself in every season,
just to feel grounded enough to fall asleep.
To show up when something good happens to me,
when the people who are supposed to be there
are busy living lives that donāt include me.
To reassure meā
not with big words,
just a small, certain smile.
To dance with me in ways that donāt make sense,
to kiss me without hesitation,
to stay without making me wonder how long itāll last.
I donāt need a savior.
I just need someone
who doesnāt leave.
