I wish we lived close, the kind of close where silence is not a punishment, but a room we share. Where we rot our eyes on games and flickering screens, and let the night drape its velvet without words, without worry.
If I could rip the curtain of miles, I would sit beside you, not to speak, but simply to dissolve into the dust that lives in your room.
Some nights I cry, not just because of what I’ve lost, but because I can picture it, me breaking down in your arms, my fingers clinging to your back like a drowning thing. Not for show. Not for pity. But because your silence would say, You’re not wrong for feeling this.
Your family is a myth I want to believe. A memory I wish I’d lived. If I had grown up next door to you, maybe the past wouldn’t hunt me like it does now, with sharp teeth and quiet claws.
I want to meet your mother and eat from your table. I want to sit in the afterglow of your childhood as if I grew beside you, two ghosts in the same garden
When you say, “If you ever need a place to stay,” something shatters in me. Because ten-year-old me is still on the bathroom floor, still praying for a friend who wouldn’t vanish when I cried too hard or needed too much.
I think of that child, how they folded into themselves because they had no one to unfold into.
You are the answer to a question I thought was refused. The “maybe” that turned into "of course.”
And still, when I hurt, I hesitate. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I’ve been taught my pain is an offense, a weight. And I fear I will burden you. Yet you remind me, unspoken, daily, that your door is not just open, it was built for me.
For that, I love you. Not in the hungry way people mistake for romance, but in the way that says, "I would build you a quiet world with my own two hands, if you asked." I would never let the storm touch you first.
You are what I wished for, not in romance, but in something rarer: a friend who feels like sanctuary, the one who showed me that love does not always need to be spoken to be felt. Not everyone has a you. I do. And that, for once, makes me feel lucky to be alive.
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