I Hope They Notice

I hope they don’t stop at your smile—because while it’s beautiful, it’s only a fraction of what makes you glow.

I hope they don’t just hear your laugh but listen closely enough to know the difference between the one that’s carefree and the one you use when you’re trying to convince yourself you’re okay.

I hope they don’t take it personally when you pull away—it’s not because you want to, but because sometimes you don’t know how to stay.

I hope they understand that your silence is never empty, that your quiet moments are filled with thoughts you’ve never known how to say out loud. And I hope they’re patient enough to wait until you do.

I hope they don’t mistake your strength for an absence of softness.

That they don’t assume you don’t need reassurance just because you rarely ask for it.

That they see how deeply you feel things, even when you pretend you don’t.

I hope they notice the way your fingers fidget when you’re anxious.

The way you glance sideways when you’re unsure.

The way your breath catches for just a second before you say something that matters.

I hope they know that when you love, you love with everything—even the parts of you that still fear love in return.

And when you start to pull away,

When your armor sneaks up out of habit,

I hope they don’t take it as rejection, but as proof of just how much you’ve had to protect yourself before.

And I hope that one day, you realize you don’t need the armor as much as you think you do.