Presence is the difference between seen and unseen, between heard and merely spoken to.
It’s in the eyes that don’t wander, in the questions that wait for answers, in the silence that listens.
A hand unclutched from the phone becomes a hand open to hold.
I’m thinking of reading a poem I wrote, in a random city, no name, no trace, just to see if the words still breathe, when no one knows who let them go. I really just want people to feel the words, I don’t want it to be about me.
There will come a day when someone beholds your truest self—bare, unmasked, unhidden—and love you still. They will meet your humanity without flinching, and love you deeper for it.