What if I only get motion sick because I’m moving at a different speed than the earth
and everything else is just me trying to translate that?
What if I was never meant to keep time
the way everyone else does
measuring days
in presence and depth
instead of hours?
What if
the way I love
fully, without holding pieces back
isn’t reckless
but rare?
What if
I don’t build connections slowly
because I can already feel
where they could go
and I’m just brave enough
to step there first?
What if
the problem was never
that I feel too much
but that I feel accurately
in rooms
where everyone else
is editing themselves?
What if
I notice the shift
the second it happens:
the tone change
the pause
the almost-text that never comes
not because I’m anxious
but because I’m paying attention
to something real?
What if
I keep getting called real, vulnerable, too much
because I don’t know how
to pretend something matters
when it doesn’t
or pretend it doesn’t when it does?
What if
I was never meant
for halfway
not in conversations
not in love
not in showing up?
I’m all in.
What if
the ache I feel
isn’t loneliness
but the absence
of being met
the way I meet others?
What if
I don’t need more people
just the right ones
who don’t flinch at depth
who don’t disappear
when it gets real
who don’t need me
to shrink to stay?
What if
nothing about me
is too much
and everything about me
is just…
unmatched?
And what if
I stop asking
why I move like this
and start asking
who can move with me?
