I’ve always longed for company—not crowds, but closeness.
For voices that speak gently, hands that guide without demand.
As an introvert, I live in quiet corners,
Where feelings run deep but words come slow.
Still, I ache—for someone to stay,
To see the silence not as absence, but depth.
To love me, not despite my quiet, but because of it.
Most pass by, never noticing the weight of stillness.
But hope—fragile, persistent—remains.
One day, someone will hear what I never say aloud.
I've always WISHED for a silent promise-- that maybe, just maybe, something more awaits.
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