Some people love you as much as possible. Trouble is, you’ve always been waiting deep down for someone to reach out to you.
I kept looking for you in places where you didn’t exist.
Not because you didn’t care. You did, the way you knew, the language you were given, the depth you were capable of.
And I don’t mean to be cruel. I say this because I spent a long time thinking there was something wrong with me for needing more.
Maybe our languages were different. Maybe you were speaking in gestures, and I was waiting for something that was deeply felt.
None of us were at fault. We’re just not built for the same kind of conversation.
But it gets lonely here.
Down in this place where everything means something, where a look stays with you for days, where you feel the weight of a room every time you enter it, where you carry people’s unspoken things without them asking you.
No one tells you that this is what sensitivity feels like from the inside. Not poetic or special. Just heavy sometimes, a little too aware for your own comfort.
I sat with people I loved and still felt completely inadequate. Because they weren’t there. They were right there.
But there is a special kind of loneliness that has nothing to do with being alone. It’s the loneliness seen on the surface while the deeper parts of you quietly disappear.
And for a long time I thought if I explained myself better, found the right words, the right moment, the right way, someone would eventually meet me there.
But I think there’s some place inside you that most people can’t reach. You don’t cause too much. Because they have not yet been to those places themselves.
And maybe that’s where injustice lives. Not because of anyone’s failure. In the gap between what one person carries and what another was taught to hold.
It’s unfair to you, yes. But it’s also unfair to expect them to go somewhere they’re never shown to go.
That always did and still breaks my heart.
Now I think that means I always have to learn how to be my own company here. How to sit deeply instead of constantly reaching out to share with someone. How to stop apologizing for feeling everything completely and start realizing that I write the way I do, love the way I do, and see people the way I do.
Curses and gifts are the same thing.
I didn’t have too many. I was too much for the wrong place.
And even though it took me a long time to feel it, there is a difference.
I am still learning to call this home.
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This post was Previously published at medium.com.
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Photo credit: Yannis Papanastsopoulos on Splash
