I. To my Tactile Squish
—the girl who made stillness feel like home
You’ll probably never see this. Not today. Maybe not ever. But I needed to get it out anyway.
Not to chase something. Not to fix it. Just to honor what was real.
There was a quiet gravity in you. Like sitting near you realigned my whole world. You didn’t speak much. And that was fine. You didn’t have to move toward me— and still, I found myself leaning into you.
It wasn’t about romance. Or desire. It was something else—something I didn’t know how to explain back then.
You see…
I never wanted to hold your hand. I just wanted to sit next to you. To lean into you when the world got too loud. To let my thoughts pour out, and have you stay. To feel your warmth. To rest in your presence.
No flinching. No judgment. Just you, soft and steady.
I wanted to laugh beside you. To rant. To be. That’s it.
The kind of closeness you don’t have to define— the kind that lives in quiet looks, long hugs, and unspoken understanding.
Eventually I came across a word for it: “Tactile squish.” And that was you. A pull toward safe, physical nearness— proximity, presence—without needing anything more. I didn’t know it existed until I met you and felt it.
And even now, even with distance between us, that feeling is still here.
The memories I have— your laugh, your voice, your smile— they still calm the storms in me. They still quiet the world. I smile whenever I remember you smiling.
You mattered. Not because we kissed—because we didn’t. Not because we dated—though sometimes I wondered. Not because of what we were or what we weren’t. But because you existed. And something in me… finally felt seen.
You were never a placeholder. Never a phase. Never just a lesson.
You were a mirror. And in you, I saw the shape of a connection I didn’t know I’d been aching for.
So I’m writing this. To remember it. To protect it.
Not because I want you to come back. Not because I’m waiting. But because I’m grateful that something like you existed at all.
—From the boy who still thinks of you when the sky gets too quiet.
