Some distances cannot be closed. Some people will move at a speed you were never meant to match. Some people will slip through your fingers no matter how tightly you hold. Some people can care deeply about you without needing to show up, check in, or spend time. They feel love as background.
And it is no one’s fault. But it still hurts.
I have spent my life reaching into the space between what I felt and what someone else felt. And that space was wider than I could navigate. I was the one who felt more. Wanted more. Held on tighter. And they seemed fine. As if love, intimacy, connection, friendship, all of it, were just things that happened around them. Those things consumed me.
It wasn’t that they didn’t care. It wasn’t that they didn’t love me back. It was that they were able to exist without the gnawing urgency that lived in me. I have never understood how to do that.
So I chased. Not always in action or words, but always in feeling. Always waiting for them to feel my frequency. To feel as deeply, match my voltage. And they never did.
Some people live with an easy detachment, with the world in a paper cup. Not me. I am sharp edges and tight breath, the thought before the answer, that nanosecond of hesitation where every possibility manifests. I’m the one who remembers the conversation long after the moment has ended.
The irony is that I know that the past and future are ripples in the now, that only this moment has weight. That’s my greatest contradiction, knowing that the present is infinite yet holding onto driftwood.
But I keep searching. Because if my own wiring is at odds with what I know to be true, then there must be a deeper truth beneath it all—something I haven’t yet grasped, something beyond the chasing and the clinging.
Maybe love isn’t about matching voltage, but about learning to hold the current steady. Maybe presence isn’t about nearness so much as about discovering a new form of gravity. Maybe the longing behind my eyes is my cue to focus more gently.
I wonder sometimes if I failed others in the same way. Was I someone else’s quiet devastation? Did someone yearn for me to feel what they felt, to need what they needed? Did I launch forward without looking back and leave someone hanging?
All I know is what it feels like to be on this side of it. How it feels to want so badly for someone to meet me at my depth, in my urgency, in my quiet, breathless need. The dull roar of an empty heart. And I am not okay with it.
I don’t want to simply accept unmet intensity. I don’t want to wrap it up in pretty words, lie to myself that this is just how life works. I don’t want to convince myself that love is beautiful even when it isn’t.
I want my love to be seen, met. For someone to look across that yawning gap and finally, finally reach back.
Some distances cannot be closed. Yet I will attempt to close them. Because I am here. I have always been here. And I will always, always love at full intensity. I’ve no choice.