how the light gets in

I wish you could see yourself the way I do—without the filter of self-doubt, without the weight of everything you think you lack. You stand at the intersection of past and present, carrying every version of yourself in the tilt of your head and the way your eyes flicker between certainty and hesitation. You are not just one thing, not just what you fear or regret. You are the sum of all the moments you thought went unnoticed—when you softened your voice to make space for someone else’s, when you laughed at your own joke because no one else heard it, when you stayed up too late chasing a thought that mattered only to you.

You see yourself through a lens that highlights the cracks, the missteps, the ways you think you fall short. I see the mosaic those cracks create, the way they let light through. I see the quiet strength in your persistence, the tenderness in the way you care, even when you pretend not to. I see the way you reach for something more, even when you don’t believe you’ll ever grasp it.

I wish you could see how your presence shifts a room, how your words linger, how your existence is not small or forgettable. You think you’re just passing through, but you leave traces everywhere. And maybe you will never see yourself the way I do—but I hope, one day, you’ll come close.

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