I’ve Met Her

I’ve met her.

She was sitting by the window, bathed in the soft glow of fading sunlight, fingers moving rhythmically over her video game controls, music quietly wrapping around her like a shield from the world. Her mind whirled with thoughts—thoughts of not belonging, of standing apart from her peers, wondering if they ever truly saw her. Did they like her? Or was she invisible, fading into the background like the light slipping behind the clouds? She wore a mask, hiding her true self because the fear of judgment. Scared to be called strange. Scared to be different.

I’ve met her.

She loved to write poetry, pouring her deepest feelings, her wildest desires into words, hoping they might escape the cage of her silence. Her voice was clearest on paper, where no one could interrupt, where her heart could unfold without fear. She loved to sing, to let her voice dance with joy and pain. She moved in the quiet corners of her room, her body swaying with the music, letting herself be goofy, playful, even though no one was watching. Being alone felt like home to her, the only place where she could breathe. It was like curling up in the comfort of her favorite blanket or clinging to the teddy bear she had as a child, the one she could never let go of—the only things that had never let her down.

She struggled to speak her feelings aloud, the words catching in her throat like tangled vines, because deep down, she believed no one really cared. No one ever asked what she thought, or how she felt, so she learned to keep those parts hidden, locked away like secrets too fragile to share.

I’ve met her.

She longed for closeness but was terrified of it. Yet, despite her fear, she allowed slivers of herself to peek through, hoping someone might see her for who she really was—hoping to be loved in return. Most people who passed her by had never truly met her. They had glimpsed the surface, but never the depths. Only a rare few had the privilege of knowing her heart, like discovering a hidden garden filled with the most vibrant flowers, delicate petals of wisdom blooming in the quiet spaces of her soul.

I’ve met her.

She’s incredible, beyond what words can capture. She is creativity embodied, overflowing with emotion, with love, with soulfulness. She moves with a joy that radiates from within, even when the world around her feels heavy. She is deeply spiritual, her imagination vast, her mind philosophical, constantly searching for meaning, for truth. Her intuition is sharp, her nature nurturing, cradling the world in her arms, even when no one cradles her in return. She is beautiful in ways that can’t be defined, a beauty that comes from the way she sees the world, the way she feels everything so deeply.

I’ve met her.

I sat with her, and for the first time, she felt seen. I told her she’s in good hands now. I told her it’s okay to be vulnerable, to let her emotions spill out, to embrace the quiet of being alone, because that’s where she finds herself. I told her it’s okay to love freely, without fear, to be unapologetically herself, to speak her truth, no matter how soft or bold. I told her to trust that inner voice, the one that has always been right, even when the world didn’t listen. And I told her, “no one out there will ever love you more than I do.” I’ll always be with her now, a part of her, so she’ll always be safe.

-Nicole