Writers Jam

Tonight feels heavy again.
I keep thinking about how quiet this room feels
and how it swallows me whole.
The hours slip past,
but it feels like it's leading to nothing.

I wish you were here.
Not to fix anything—
but just to sit with me,
to hold me in your arms without a question,
and not let go.
I keep wondering if anyone would notice,
if I disappeared into this silence completely.

There’s too much of me here.
Too many thoughts,
too much stillness,
too much of this ache
pressing against my ribs.
And yet—
not enough.
Not enough warmth to keep me soft,
not enough voices to drown out the fog,
not enough proof that I even belong anywhere.

Sometimes I wonder if you’d understand,
without me having to explain.
I imagine you taking my hand,
telling me that even my feelings
belongs somewhere.

I don’t need saving.
I just need someone to sit here with me,
to see me exactly as I am—
messy, broken and a little lonely—
and still stay.

If you were here,
I think I’d cry.
Not the loud kind—
just the kind that slips out,
when someone finally lets you feel safe enough to fall apart.

Until then,
I’ll write to you
like you might find these words one day,
And might see me and say,
“I’ve been looking for you as well.”