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> come closer, but don’t flinch when you see the places I’ve bled quietly. I am not soft in the way you expect — I am soft like wildfire, like midnight rain that forgets to be gentle. I love like this: with cracked palms, shaking breath, and a heart too heavy to float but too stubborn to drown. if you want me, know this: I won’t promise easy, but I will promise real. raw fingertips. unhidden scars. midnight confessions no one else has ever touched. come closer. and if you stay— I’ll hand you everything I’ve ever buried under my ribs.
I wasn’t asking for much, was I? Just a hand that wouldn’t let go when life got heavier than love. Just eyes that could see the mess inside me and say “stay anyway.” I only asked for forever once. Just once. But forever is expensive when people have pockets full of half-promises and hearts stitched together with exit wounds. They said “I love you” like it was currency, spent fast, forgot faster. But me? I meant every word like an oath. I carved it into my ribs — I don’t love on rental, I love like home. And maybe that’s my tragedy — giving forever to people who were only passing through. So here I am again, writing poems to ghosts, building altars out of ache, loving harder in memory than I was ever loved in real time. And yet — I’d still do it all again. Because some hearts don’t know how to love small.
I don’t want promises painted gold at midnight only to peel by morning. I don’t crave fairytales that fall apart the moment reality touches them. I just want someone who looks me in the eyes and says — “I can’t guarantee always… but I can give you honesty. I can give you the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get messy. The kind that stays soft even when life turns hard.” I want real. I want the kind of connection that doesn’t vanish when I forget how to smile or when I show my scars instead of my skin. I want fingertips that trace not just my body, but my brokenness — and still choose to stay. Don’t promise me forever. Promise me presence. Promise me truth, even if it’s inconvenient. Promise me warmth that doesn’t run when I collapse at 2 AM. I don’t ask for perfect. I just ask for real. Because real is rare, and rare is enough to be everything.