my soul chose this.

there are moments when i long for someone i haven’t met yet. someone who speaks in undercurrents, not small talk. who lives slowly, richly — who reads, writes, thinks too much. someone who would ask about the poems i haven’t published, the thoughts i tried to hide in parentheses, the dreams i shelved because they felt too tender to name.

i think about meeting a person like that.

someone whose presence feels like a quiet room filled with books and amber light,

someone who sees me — not just as a constellation of traits, but as a story unfolding. who wants to trace every line of it with reverence.

i imagine us talking deep into the night —

not about headlines or logistics or how the week was, but about everything beneath it.

about longing. and memory. and the beauty of overthinking.

someone who says my name like it tastes sweet. who looks at me like i‘m made of dusk and ink and meaning. who touches me like i‘m not just skin but a cathedral of thoughts he wants to memorize.

— Lux