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"Some people don't just see you —
they recognize the weather in your soul."
Dear Diary,
Today,
I did something small.
But to me, it felt like the beginning of everything.
I let him in —
not all the way,
but enough.
Enough for the air to feel different.
Enough for my heart to stop tiptoeing.
It happened when we were walking by the stream —
the one behind the orchard that barely anyone visits.
He asked if I'd show him the place I go when I need to feel real.
The place I whisper to when the world feels too heavy to hold.
And I almost said no.
Almost tucked myself back into safety.
But something about the way he asked —
not out of curiosity, but care —
made me want to say yes.
So I led him there.
It's a little clearing, tucked between overgrown trees and wildflowers that bloom like secrets.
The sky always feels wider there —
like it stretches just for me.
He stood there quietly for a long time.
Just looking.
Breathing.
Letting the hush of the place settle into him.
Then he said:
"It feels like you."
And I almost laughed.
Because it did.
A little wild.
A little quiet.
A little sacred.
Then I did something I've never done with anyone before:
I sat down on the mossy log and read him one of my poems.
A real one.
One I hadn't written to hide.
One that bled.
My voice shook a little,
but he didn't interrupt,
didn't blink too loud,
didn't try to solve the pain in the verses.
He just listened.
Like every word mattered.
Like every pause meant something.
And when I finished, he didn't say "That was good" or "I liked it."
He said:
"Thank you for trusting me with that sky."
And I knew he meant it.
Knew that for once, someone wasn't just admiring the stars in me —
they were willing to sit through my storms too.
I don't know where this is going.
But today, I stopped asking all the fearful questions.
I just let the moment be what it was:
two souls sitting near the sky,
quietly learning how to see each other.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌻🌌
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