I Just Wanted to Be Safe Somewhere

I wasn’t looking for a fairytale.

I wasn’t even looking for romance.

I just wanted to feel safe somewhere.

I wanted someone whose presence softened the volume of the world—

not someone who lit fires in me,

but someone who sat beside the flame and kept it warm.

I wanted gentle.

The kind of gentle that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

I wanted a voice that didn’t rush me to be okay.

I wanted hands that didn’t flinch when I cried.

I wanted someone who understood that sometimes silence says:

“I’m here. Take your time.”

—

I’ve been in rooms full of people and still felt lonely.

I've been held tightly and still felt like I was falling.

That’s what happens when you confuse being needed with being loved.

When people love the version of you that entertains, fixes, listens, shines—

but leave when you dim.

I wanted to be someone's soft place to land,

but more than that...

I wanted someone to be mine.

—

One time, I met someone who made my laugh feel softer,

my breathing slower.

They didn’t try to fix me.

They just asked me if I’d eaten.

And when I didn’t know how to answer,

they brought me tea and sat across from me like it was nothing.

That was love.

Not the kind that sweeps you off your feet—

but the kind that teaches you how to stand again.

—

I’m still searching, in a way.

Not desperately, not with a hole in my heart.

But with a quiet hope…

that maybe, one day,

I’ll look at someone and feel my whole body exhale.

And they’ll look at me like I’ve always been their home.

And that will be enough.

Just that.

Safety.

Warmth.

And peace.