I collapse on you…
For almost three months now, being near you has felt like standing at the edge of something immeasurable, like the sea at night when even silence feels alive. I’ve come to know you in tides rather than moments, the rise and fall of your breath, the quiet weight you carry in your body, the rhythm your days fall into, and the hidden weather of thoughts you don’t always speak aloud. You are not simply someone I talk to, you are someone I’ve begun to recognize in absence, in pause, in the spaces between words. And there is something almost reverent in that, something I keep gently.
To hold you in my thoughts like this is to want to be the calm that doesn’t demand anything from you. To meet you where you are without noise, without urgency, to make room for every version of you that exists without explanation, the brightness, the heaviness, and the quiet in between. You make me want to remain, even when nothing is being said, even when distance stretches the space between us, as if staying itself is a language I am learning just for you.
I find myself wanting to know you beyond the shape you already show, not to possess, but to understand in a way that is patient and unafraid. I wanna learn more of you. The thoughts you leave unfinished, the silences that mean more than words, the inner currents that pull you away and bring you back again. I want to exist gently in those unseen places where you do not have to perform or explain, only be.
And this feels like the most unguarded version of me I have ever offered, caring without conditions, without demand, without asking the world to give anything back. Just let me. Let me stay as something soft and steady in your orbit, something that does not interrupt but remains.
Because knowing you like this, slowly and quietly, feels like learning a language the ocean only speaks once in a while, and I do not want to translate it quickly. I only want to keep listening, as long as you let me.