There is a sacred place where steady trees cover graceful hills and unforgiving mountains. It is easy to be breathless and in awe.
It is hard to compromise where we do not belong.
This is a different kind of loneliness, even though I’ve felt it all my life. Just adjacent to connection. Watching others discover love, wishing you knew if it were true.
I feel all alone in friendly crowded rooms. No one seeks me out for solace, and no one stays to keep me warm. Some barely catch my eye and then pretend they never saw.
I want a best friend, a partner in crime. Who knows what I’m thinking before I say it. Who sees the small hesitation before I say I’m fine. Who grabs my hand and runs. Who nestles up to me when it all becomes too much. Who is thick as thieves and we do not care what others think.
But imposter syndrome paints a vivid picture of all the people I thought I was. And every single version doesn’t come close enough to what I think other people love.
It’s hard enough to live inside this body. Without the worry that for others it’s not good enough to be seen and held and free.