I see you.

I write to you, for you—these words, in the hope they leave an imprint on your soul. 

I am no one, nobody to you. Yet, at times, I wonder if you believe I can read your heart, if you feel I describe your life, your emotions. When you're too afraid to open the pages of your heart, you find them reflected in these lines of poetry. 

Do you need saving? I saw you fall, and you lay there, still, without turning. I saw you fall, and you slept on the road, eyes closed. 

Do you need to be heard? I hear your screams late at night, they wake me, they keep me. 

Do you need to be seen? I catch your reflection in the mirror, your shoulders sinking. 

Is it love that you need? Your insides are black with melancholy; you've painted sadness across the walls. 

I wonder if you see yourself, you know? 

There’s something about you... something that makes me reach for more ink. There’s hope hiding in the crevices of your eyes, and it glows. 

Enough—that's all you want to be, yet you don’t realize you can never be enough for the world. You tie up your lips, holding yourself back from telling your soul how you are more than enough, how brave you are, how you have survived. You close your eyes, pretending not to see that you’re full of love—you’ve just learned how to hide it. 

You’re running away from the things you love because you're scared of the weight of your emotions. But life is all about loving and losing, about learning and unlearning. What you're truly afraid of is living. 

There you are, standing out in the crowd, feeling out of place—their smiles full of grace, yours full of sadness. 

You call yourself strange, but strange is just a word you use to box yourself in. 

Strange is just a word you use to hide from life. 

I see you.