that empty feeling when i go home and realize there's no one waiting to hear about my day, no one asking how i've been, what happened throughout my day or how tired i am.
I come home and hope to find you there, to ask how your day was, if you’re aware of all the little battles, all the quiet fights, the hours you’ve wrestled shadows and lights.
I want to hear what weighed on your mind, what made you laugh, what hurt, what you find too small to say—but I’ll catch it all, the stories, the stumbles, whenever you fall.
No empty rooms, no silence to keep, just me listening to you, while the world falls asleep.


















