u/IstralLunareis

​

I don’t know how

this could hurt any more

than it already does.

And what is manufactured love, anyway?

Is it borrowed?

Does it come with a return date

I was too blind to see?

Some expiration date

hidden somewhere in the fine print

warning me not to believe

something this beautiful

could ever stay.

Because I believed it.

God… I believed it.

And maybe that was my mistake.

I used to call it bathtub love.

I said it wasn’t real.

I said it because it scared me

how fucking real it actually was.

Because in those moments

he loved me in ways

I had never been loved before.

Not halfway.

Not conditionally.

Not carefully measured

behind walls and fear.

He loved all of me.

The broken parts I hide.

The parts I hate.

The parts I wish I could cut away

and become someone softer,

someone easier,

someone less damaged.

And somehow…

He saw every single one

of those pieces

and loved them anyway.

No, worse than that.

He loved the parts of me

I couldn’t even love myself.

So I called it bathtub love.

Because it felt too perfect

to belong in the real world.

Like a world that only existed

for two people

where pain couldn’t enter.

Where fear didn’t exist.

Where there was no anger,

no disappointment,

no future waiting to ruin it.

Just warmth.

Just skin.

Just safety.

Just love

at its fullest, rawest,

most genuine form.

And now I sit here wondering

if maybe I ruined

the only real thing

I have ever known.

How can he leave

after knowing me like that?

How can someone hold

every ugly piece of you

in their hands,

tell you they love all of it…and then go?

Why couldn’t he be mine?

What did I do wrong?

Why do I always become this version of myself

when all I wanted

was to love

and be loved back?

And how the fuck am I supposed to grieve this?

Because this pain doesn’t feel like heartbreak.

It feels like losing

the only place

I have ever been fully seen

and fully accepted.

He knew things about me

no one else will ever know.

And I let him.

I gave him every hidden part of me

because I thought

if anyone ever understood me…

it was him. So tell me now!

How do I let go

of the one person

who loved the pieces of me

I have spent my whole life hating?

How do I move on

when for one brief moment…

I knew what it felt like

to be loved

exactly as I am?

And if Recognizing Souls

was the closest thing

I have ever known

to feeling whole…

Then how am I supposed

to live in a world

where it no longer exists?

I've fallen too far.

Straighten up, for the gaze.

Thoughts, when dreams of infatuation boil.

I never succeeded, I never cared,

Now I worry if I care too much.

What should I do and what should I say?

I think in circles, I've lost my way.

Your throne is ready, I'm out of office,

I'm afraid you'll see it and say, "No way, no."

Hope and longing were once an image,

Now you're in it, and my doubts are richer.

I've compared and studied every infatuation I've experienced,

To emerge from you and what follows, that I dissolve.

Because the infatuation machine can be cruel,

I feed it daily, searching for remnants.

When I spoke with you, I lost something along the way—

My courage left me, and in its place, fear took its place.

something stirred within me, something stirred,

Suddenly I have something to lose.

Playing with the thought of "that apartment."

I immediately shuddered, ready to finish.

Now I'm in a state of infatuation.

These unwanted actions are eternal damnation,

From sentences considered... but left to die.

I can't get them out of my head,

Because I'm lost in every one of your words.

They sang a song with a refrain you didn't use.

You cleared the fog from my mind and showed me that—

The one I'm guided by: live... and laugh.

I've fallen too far.

Straighten up, for the gaze.

Thoughts, when dreams of infatuation boil.

I never succeeded, I never cared,

Now I worry if I care too much.

What should I do and what should I say?

I think in circles, I've lost my way.

Your throne is ready, I'm out of office,

I'm afraid you'll see it and say, "No way, no."

Hope and longing were once an image,

Now you're in it, and my doubts are richer.

I've compared and studied every infatuation I've experienced,

To emerge from you and what follows, that I dissolve.

Because the infatuation machine can be cruel,

I feed it daily, searching for remnants.

When I spoke with you, I lost something along the way—

My courage left me, and in its place, fear took its place.

something stirred within me, something stirred,

Suddenly I have something to lose.

Playing with the thought of "that apartment."

I immediately shuddered, ready to finish.

Now I'm in a state of infatuation.

These unwanted actions are eternal damnation,

From sentences considered... but left to die.

I can't get them out of my head,

Because I'm lost in every one of your words.

They sang a song with a refrain you didn't use.

You cleared the fog from my mind and showed me that—

The one I'm guided by: live... and laugh.

​

I think I have my answer

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for tonight.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for tonight, that's enough

​

I think I have my answer

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for tonight.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for tonight, that's enough

​

I think I have my answer

I asked the universe, and I think it answered.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the right words for what you have become to me.

I don't think there are any.

I love you.

Not in the easy way we sometimes use those words when we're caught up in a moment. Not because I'm lonely, or unhappy, or because you've become an escape from a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

I love you because somewhere along the way, without either of us really deciding it would happen, you became part of the way I see the world.

You became a presence in my days.

A name I look for.

A voice I listen for.

A little piece of happiness I didn't know I was waiting for.

We've never even stood beside one another. We've never shared a room or reached across a table or felt the warmth of one another's hand.

And somehow, I know you.

At least the pieces you've trusted me enough to show.

The photographs. The stories. The ridiculous little things that made you laugh. The things you thought I'd find interesting. The quiet moments tucked between everything else.

I've fallen in love with those pieces.

And then there is the woman behind them.

You are, quite honestly, breathtaking.

But the strange thing is, I loved you before I knew what you looked like. Your face didn't create what I feel for you.

It simply gave the feeling somewhere beautiful to look.

And I love the imperfections, too.

Maybe especially those.

The little things you might wish were different about yourself are sometimes the very things that make you more beautiful to me. I don't want some perfected version of you. I don't want an ideal.

I want you.

Exactly as you are.

And your voice...

I don't know if you realize what you've done to me with that voice.

It has become my favorite sound.

There are moments when I listen to one of your messages more than once—not because I didn't hear what you said, but because I wanted to hear you again.

Your messages have become little bright spots in my days. Sometimes they're funny. Sometimes they're thoughtful. Sometimes they're nothing particularly important at all.

And somehow, they're still important to me.

Because they're yours.

That's what frightens me a little.

How easily you have become woven into me.

I can't imagine my life now without wondering what you'd think of something, without wanting to tell you something that happened, without seeing something and thinking, she would appreciate this.

I don't want to pretend that isn't true.

But I also don't want my love for you to become something heavy.

Because I know our lives are complicated.

I know yours is complicated.

Mine certainly is.

And I've asked the universe what I'm supposed to do with all of this.

I think maybe the answer is not that I have to stop loving you.

Maybe the answer is that I have to learn how to love you without trying to possess the future.

That's harder than I expected.

Because I can see the life we both seem to want.

Something simple.

Something quiet.

A life where being loved isn't complicated. Where two people can come home to one another and feel, finally, that they are where they belong.

I can see it so clearly sometimes that it almost feels like remembering something that hasn't happened yet.

And God, I would love that life with you.

I would choose it.

I would fight for it.

But I can't ask you to build it for me.

That's the line I keep coming back to.

Not because I doubt you.

I don't.

You're stronger and more capable than you probably give yourself credit for.

And not because I think you couldn't love me.

There are moments when I think you already do, even if neither of us has been brave enough to put that particular word between us.

I feel it in the way you care.

In the way you notice things.

In the tenderness that sometimes finds its way through your words.

I feel it.

And perhaps I'm wrong.

Perhaps some of what I feel is simply my heart filling in the spaces that distance leaves behind.

But if it is, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt.

What I don't want is for you to look at my life and decide that loving me means carrying it.

It doesn't.

Whatever burdens belong to me are mine.

Not yours.

You didn't create them, and you shouldn't have to inherit them simply because you happened to love the person carrying them.

That's why I'm trying to be restrained when every part of me wants to reach for you.

Because loving someone isn't only about how desperately you want them beside you.

Sometimes it's about wanting them to remain free enough to choose you.

I don't want to make your choices for you.

I don't want to tell you what your life should look like.

And I certainly don't want you to choose me because you think I need saving.

I want you to choose whatever makes your soul feel alive.

Even if that terrifies me.

Even if I have to learn how to live with wanting something I cannot control.

Because that's what this love has taught me.

That love can be enormous without being demanding.

It can be fierce without being possessive.

It can ask for nothing and still give everything.

So I'm not saying goodbye.

I'm not asking you for an answer.

I'm not asking you to promise me anything.

I'm just letting you see what has been living inside me.

I love you.

Purely.

Quietly.

More deeply than I know how to explain.

And maybe that's enough for tonight.

Maybe I don't need to know where this goes.

Maybe I don't need to solve tomorrow.

Maybe I can simply lie here for a while, close my eyes, and let myself be grateful that somehow, in this strange and impossibly complicated life, I found you.

I asked the universe for an answer.

Maybe the answer wasn't what I thought it would be.

Maybe it was simply this:

Love her.

And so I will.

Without demanding.

Without trying to own the outcome.

Without asking her to carry what belongs to me.

Just...

love her.

As completely as I know how.

And for tonight, that's enough

Honestly, I don't really know how to answer the question of what it's like to live as a highly sensitive person, because for me, this kind of life is simply normal. I don't know any other way of being. I can't become someone else, nor can I compare my life to the lives of people who aren't highly sensitive.

Ever since I was a child, people called me a “Witch” or a “Devil.”

Or they would simply say that I was from another planet.

And I suppose they were quite right... Because I really am a strange person.

My brain processes things incredibly fast. I am so intense that people sometimes run away from me when they can't keep up. I don't operate logically. I'm much more intuitive, impulsive, and emotional.

With my high emotional intelligence, I pick up on the tiniest changes in my surroundings: unspoken moods, deep wounds, and hidden anger in complete strangers, even when everything is perfectly silent. I notice every shift in someone's tone of voice. I'm like a human antenna, ruthlessly picking up other people's frequencies — an emotional sponge absorbing everyone else's dirt.

Sometimes I feel like the people around me are little golf carts while I'm speeding past them like a high-speed train.

This is what it feels like to walk through your own life...

searching for an explanation of yourself in other people's eyes...

and finding nothing but empty stares.

Sometimes I also feel like a jug being filled drop by drop with other people's emotions, with millions of external impulses — tiny movements in people's faces, intentions hidden between the words they speak...

So I'm like a jug with no filter.

Everything falls into me exactly as it comes, until I am filled to the brim.

It's such a strange feeling when I can physically feel the air growing denser, as if it were filled with an invisible energy made of incredibly strong emotions, pressing against my chest... forcing their way into me, brutally, and I can't protect myself from them.

I also know what it's like when sounds create such a powerful short circuit in my head that I simply can't function.

I can also say that it took me many years to learn how to accept who I am and consciously control the way I experience the world.

It was also difficult to accept that I am often misinterpreted or misunderstood, and that this has left me somewhat alienated and lonely.

But I don't blame people for it. How could they understand something they have never felt themselves?

I hope that people who are like me will read this.

And I hope they will know that they are not alone in this world.

Szczerze mówiąc, to nie bardzo wiem, jak dobrze odpowiedzieć na to pytanie jak żyje się z WWO... , ponieważ dla mnie takie życie to norma. Nie znam innego sposobu by być. Nie umiem stać się inna, ani porównać mojego życia do życia ludzi bez WWO...

Od kiedy byłam dzieckiem ludzie mówili na mnie "Wiedźma" albo "Diablica"...

Albo po prostu, że jestem z innej planety...

I chyba mieli sporo racji... Bo naprawdę jestem dziwnym człowiekiem...

Mój mózg przetwarza bardzo szybko. Jestem tak intensywna, że ludzie przede mną uciekają, gdy nie mogą nadążyć. Nie działam logicznie. Raczej intuicyjnie, impulsywnie i emocjonalnie...

Jako człowiek o wysokiej inteligencji emocjonalnej rejestruję najdrobniejsze zmiany w otoczeniu: niewypowiedziane nastroje, głębokie rany i ukryty gniew obcych ludzi, nawet gdy panuje idealna cisza..czuję też każdą zmianę w tonie głosu . Jestem jak ludzka antena bezlitosnie wychwytujac cudze częstotliwości, jak emocjonalne gąbka wchłaniająca cudzy bród.

Czasem mam wrażenie, że ludzie w koło są jak meleks, podczas gdy ja pędzę jak pendolino...

to jest chodzić przez własne życie…

szukając tłumaczenia samego siebie w cudzych oczach…

i znajdować tylko puste spojrzenia…

Czasem mam też wrażenie, że jestem, jak dzban, który napełnia się kroplami ludzkich emocji, milionami impulsów zewnętrznych jak: mikroruchy ludzkich twarzy, intencji skrywanych między wypowiadanymi słowami.. . Więc jestem, jak dzban, który nie ma filtra. Wpada w niego wszystko, jak leci, aż wypełni się po brzegi.

To takie dziwne uczucie, kiedy czuję fizycznie, kiedy powietrze gęstnieje, jakby wypełnione było niewidzialną energią bardzo silnych emocji, które gniotąc klatkę... I włażą we mnie brutalnie, i nie mogę się przed tym obronić. Znam też odczucie, kiedy dźwięki robią w głowie zwarcie tak mocne, że człowiek nie jest w stanie funkcjonować...

Mogę też powiedzieć, że wiele lat uczyłam się zaakceptować i mieć świadomą kontrolę nad tym jaka jestem. Trudne też było do zaakceptowania, że często bywam źle interpretowana/nierozumiana, a przez to trochę wyalienowana i samotna. Nie winię jednak ludzi, bo jak mieliby zrozumieć coś, czego nigdy nie czuli?

Mam nadzieję, że przeczytają to ludzie, którzy mają podobnie, jak ja. I będą wiedzieć, że nie są na tym świecie sami...

Across the night sky

The moon chased clouds,

like a herd of mustangs

among the stars of the ocean.

And then morning

pulls me out of the hole.

So it's time to pretend again,

to act according to the "plan"...

Balcony.

Cigarette.

3 degrees...

The air

Trembles...

Silence in my head...

In a emptiness that soothes,

promises nothing.

In the pause between

a sigh and pain.

Where no one lies,

I become a mute silence,

speaking in every language,

A voice they cannot hear.

Tell me, what am I?

If not nothing?

If I speak from within,

and no one hears me?

Who am I to the world,

when I stand in a crowd

that sees the "Mirror"

• Me - cannot see?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/BadxxkVlZb

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/3ROjdKNw2I