In the dark, I can let myself tear up thinking about you yesterday and the day before that and the one before that too. I can squeeze my body pillow and bury my face in it and pretend it’s you. My heart is so tender, and yes this is why I named that playlist “心疼 heart-tender”.
I miss you so much. It is an unfamiliar pull to me, like something of mine goes away with you every time you hang-up, but I don’t realise it until days later. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t hormones or. you know. something abnormal. Our passing messages and voice notes weren’t enough for me, I missed you even as you say my name, even as you gift your attention to me. I didn’t tell you for days, even though I ached to talk with you.
I was cautious in case you might think I was being clingy and that might chase you away, and that’s so weird because I almost never think this way about myself—I’m typically distant and preoccupied to a fault. I thought I just need to just throw myself into my other activities and my schedule is already quite packed—but my thoughts kept drifting to you. Even when I went out on the weekend to party and dance and meet new folks, I could only think of you and I told you this too.
7th March 2026 4:15 AM: there was a point during the night it got a little frigid and I had this sudden craving to know what it would be like to press up against you or hide in your jacket that smells like you in the middle of winter or to share dessert and drinks with you and get so buzzed and so warm in my cheeks and my skin🧍🏻♀️in my head I was gonna come home and tell you that immediately because it made me ache so bad
I didn’t tell you that the femme there was flirting with me a lot and I didn’t entertain it of course, but it did make me want you and think of you and what it would be like to go out with you. God I wanted you, only you. Baby, baby, baby, I melted into a puddle when you told me the other day that you want me. BABY, it’s not even sex, do you understand? I mean yes, I want that too, but I want so much more to just contribute to and share in your happiness, in your glow, in your excitement and whatever lifts your spirits. I like us. I like how I feel around you. Doing things with you and your philosophy of kindness in mind even though you’re not there. Your thoughts and your journey with yourself and your culture is beautiful and admirable, your views are similar to mine but you also have your own differences that inspire me to hold my horses and reflect.
I don’t understand it. I feel so attached to you in a way that startles me. I don’t want to tell you that. In the last couple of days I’ve typed up a message 20 times now to tell you how much I miss you, how much I want to talk to you. I took two days to even think up of how to ask you casually if we can talk. And today when we finally called again after just 1 week, I immediately blurted out that I missed you so much. I nearly sobbed with relief when I heard your voice again.
I bought you some things, I’m worried you might realise how much they cost because they might put the damn receipt in the delivery. You kept thanking me and offered to buy me something too but I… I didn’t want your thanks or reciprocation. I don’t want anything back. I did it because I care about you. Because I want you to be well. I ask of my gods and ancestors to never make you feel indebted to me, never feel obligated to me. Just be well.
We don’t even have to talk. I just want to know you’re on the other side of the line, listening to me breathe and live and exist, and vice versa. I want to fall asleep with you on the line.
When you told me you had to go to sleep I wanted to ask if you might take me with you, so I can hear you snore. Fuck I don’t care that it’s weird, I care that you might not want me so close.
But it doesn’t feel destabilising you know? It feels right that I’m pulled to you, you feel right to me. You feel warm to me. Did you know you’re the first non-family person who I go makeup-less around and still feel femme and human? With others, I present masc or just—some desexed person because that’s how I’m treated when I don’t dress up.
Maybe you represent a sense of comfort to me, the comfort of being at home and not worrying about being perceived as comfortable. Which is weird, this makes me realise how much I don’t let people perceive me as comfortable. I’m always so rigid and discontent and holding myself together at every second.
Baby. You’re my woman. You’re my boy.
