Fluent in you

I hope you meet someone who speaks your language.

And no—I don’t mean the language you’ve spoken since you were little.

Not the language you use to be understood on the surface: small talk, polite laughter, the version of you that knows how to keep things light. I mean the language underneath—the one you’ve been translating your whole life.

The language of your silence.

The way you go quiet when you’re overwhelmed, not because you don’t care, but because you care too much.

The way you need a little time before you can name what you feel.

The few seconds you take so you don’t start crying before you speak.

The way your heart says everything at once, and your mouth can only offer pieces.

I hope you meet someone who doesn’t make you turn your emotions into a presentation. Someone who doesn’t need you to justify every reaction with a backstory. Someone who doesn’t look at your sensitivity like it’s a problem to fix, or your depth like it’s “too intense.”

Because some of us have spent years translating our souls into something easier to digest.

We soften our needs.

We shorten our stories.

We laugh at things that hurt.

We say “it’s fine” when it isn’t—just to keep the peace, just to keep the connection.

We’ve been acting our whole lives so it’s easier for people to understand a tiny crumb of what we’re actually saying.

And after a while, you forget what it feels like to be fully spoken to. You start believing love is supposed to feel like effort—like constantly finding the right words, the right tone, the right timing, so you don’t get misunderstood and left behind. So your words don’t get twisted and turned.

But the right person won’t require you to shrink your truth to be loved.

The right person will notice the meaning behind your words. They’ll hear the question you’re too scared to ask. They’ll recognize your patterns without using them against you. They’ll stay curious instead of defensive. They’ll choose to understand you, not just tolerate you.

And maybe that’s what we’re all really hoping for:

not someone who never gets it wrong,

but someone who keeps trying to get it right—

someone safe enough that you don’t have to keep translating your soul into a language that was never meant for you.

I hope you meet someone who speaks your language so fluently that you finally stop apologizing for how you feel.

And when that happens, I hope you realize: you were never “too much.”

You were just tired of being misunderstood.

And once you find someone who learns your language like it’s native to them—keep them. Protect them. Love them.

Because these days, real connection can feel rarer than flying to the moon.

Yours truly 🤍