I want to be seen.

I want to be seen. Not glimpsed, not half-understood, not turned into something convenient or palatable. I want someone to look at me — not through me, not at some version of me they’ve made up in their head, but me.

I don’t want to be someone’s fleeting fascination, some beautiful idea they admire but never quite grasp. I don’t want to be placed on a shelf, kept at a distance, or turned into a story that suits them better than the truth. I want someone who meets me, right where I stand, in all my depth, in all my contradictions, in all the quiet things I don’t always say out loud.

I want someone who isn’t afraid of the way my mind moves, who doesn’t shrink when I reach for something deeper, who doesn’t love the thought of me more than the reality. A friend first, a lover second, but always both. Someone who feels like home — not because I remind them of something they’ve known before, but because something in them knows me. Because something in them has been waiting for someone like me.

I want to be understood, not just admired. I want to be chosen, not just desired. I want someone who listens to my thoughts and doesn’t just let them pass through like background noise but holds onto them, turns them over in their mind, because they matter. Because I matter.

I don’t want to be anyone’s almost, anyone’s uncertainty, anyone’s passing daydream. I want to be real to someone. I want to be seen.

— Lux