some people collect stamps or coins, but i collect the way a specific voice breaks on a high note, or the way a certain actor looks when they’re pretending to be brave.

it is a lifelong apprenticeship in wonder, loving someone i will never meet, who has somehow taught me everything i know about being human.

before i even knew how to navigate my own life, i was building bridges to people who lived on screens and stages.

my childhood wasn’t measured in years but rather in eras, each one defined by a name i whispered like a prayer and a face that felt more familiar than my own reflection.

it was never about the autograph or the front row seat. i was a child looking for a hero to tell me that my feelings were valid, and i grew into an adult who still uses those heroes to translate my own soul.

i am fangirling because i am still learning how to be the person i see in them.

they have always created a world for me where i am never too much and never not enough. to the rest of the world i am just a face in a crowd but when i step into their world, i feel the warmth of a friend who finally speaks my language.

it‘s the only place i‘m not lonely, but i return to my own life feeling more isolated than ever. it is the price i‘m paying, to be loved by a stranger in a way that makes the love of everyone else feel thin.

returning to my own life leaves me with nothing but salty tears.

tears that aren’t just sadness, they are the residue of a heart that has traveled to a kinder universe and had to be dragged back, kicking and screaming, to the silence of the four empty walls of my room.

which is a nice way of saying they find my silence deeply suspicious, as if i have something to hide, or at the very least have an attitude problem.

i need to be louder for the world around me to finally see me. to even acknowledge my being.

but have those people ever considered how exhausting it is to perform a louder version of myself, solely for the purpose of making other people feel more comfortable?

the sadness in realizing that people prefer the loud mask i wear more than what’s actually underneath it. more than me.

how lonely it is to constantly be misunderstood, for people to interpret my silence as a judgment of them.

people treat my silence like a puzzle they can’t solve, or worse, a void they feel entitled to fill with their own noise.

it’s exhausting being treated like a technical glitch in someone else’s social life, just because i prefer to listen to the world, instead of screaming at it.

i don’t want to throw my heart into a conversation where i know it’s going to get stepped on.

being quiet comes with the irony of people thinking that i don’t care, that i‘m cold and conceited when in reality i have the biggest and warmest heart visible to those who actually listen.

i‘m drowning in my own thoughts, while they think i‘m looking down on them from a pedestal i never asked to stand on.

my silence isn’t a judgment of you.

it is my sanctuary.

so, if you’re ever tired of the noise, too, come sit with me.

i won’t ask why you‘re quiet.

i already know that the loudest things in the room are usually the things we never say out loud anyway.

ever since i was a child i felt like i was made to be a loner. born to be a loner.

always too quiet for anyone to connect with. i got used to the feeling of being invisible to the world around me.

it felt like everyone was looking right through me instead of acknowledging my presence. to this day i feel like nobody has really seen me.

i wandered my highschool‘s hallways alone because nobody wanted to be seen with me. did anyone even notice i was there? would it have made a difference if i had left? questions that i still don’t have answers to.

i started building walls around me at a very early age. walls to protect me from the cruelty of humanity.

walls to close me off from any potential friendship. but they would only hurt me and use me again, right?

it’s only right to protect myself.

every child wants to be protected.

so my journey of loneliness begins.

whenever i saw only a glimpse of goodness in someone and tried to befriend them, they would turn around and stab me in the heart. twisting and twisting till i was left completely empty.

so, walls must be higher now.

part of me wants to live in solitude forever because it’s all i know. it’s all i‘ve ever known. i feel so comfortable in my own solitude that everything outside of it makes me feel anxious.

another part of me longs for connection.

a friend to talk to. a friend to share experiences and memories with.

though honestly i have given up already and accepted my fate as the loner that i am.

i was turned stone cold by the world around me as a way of protecting myself.

but am i protecting myself or am i maybe just robbing myself of the very things that make life meaningful?

at almost 26 now, is it time for me to thaw when my cold walls start robbing me of more than they protect me from?

questions that i still don’t have answers to.