The Language I Don't Speak

Writing About What I Can't Yet Feel Fully

[thelanguageidontspeak]

October 24th, 2025

They broke up yesterday. It’s not my business, but I hope you’re okay. Does it make me a bad person to hope it means he’ll spend more time with me? I moved here for him. Well, I moved here because of him. I was smart enough not to think that way. I’m not asking him to date or hook up with me. I don’t think he’d even consider that now that we live together. Probably for the best.

But I can’t help wondering how his hand fits in mine, what his hugs feel like. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I’d just ruin it — and myself.

It just happened, and you’re already back on the apps. Didn’t even look at me. It’s lonely. I’m lonely. But maybe it’s my own doing, hoping for something that’ll never come.

[thelanguageidontspeak]

Wrote Down More TikTok Posts that Made Me Feel Things

I don't have the foggiest idea who the original authors are to these two pieces, but please know that they are not mine. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ #1 I hope you know you're my favorite person. You always give me something to look forward to in life. You're always loved and as long as I'm alive you always will be loved. You'll always have a special place in my heart, just know I'll love you at your worst, not just your best. You're not too hard to handle and you'll never be. I love you. #2 Even when the world doesn't clap for you, I will, and even without a trophy, I'll always come running to you just to tell you how proud I am, even at the simplest things you achieve.

[thelanguageidontspeak]

A Poem by Alida Moon that Resonated with Me

I have made a home with no slamming doors and no eggshells on the floor. I invite my friends over and we get drunk on wine and laughter, melting on each other like butter when we can't sit straight anymore. I write poems with their names as titles. I reach out, they reach back, one, two, three times, and we hold hands on our way to the bookstore. I sit on the sofa alone after a long day and let the cats curl up on my lap. I sing, I dance, I unpack the groceries. I love you on purpose, I say. And I mean it. I love me on purpose, too.

The love that I want exists out there.

After all, I exist.

I love like that. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This was a poem I saw on TikTok, I believe. It struck a chord with me strong enough that I wrote it down and have reread it more often than I expected

[thelanguageidontspeak]

September 18th, 2025

You had him over to celebrate his birthday. I don’t really care for him, but you do — and it was nice seeing you happy again. I’m glad you have someone to do that kind of thing for. It feels like that’s what you love most about being with someone — doing little things that make them feel seen. Watching you left me wondering if anyone’s ever been that excited to see me. Maybe some of your reaction was for show, but I know most of it was real. You meant every ounce of it. I can’t think of anyone who’s ever looked at me like that. Maybe that says something about me — or the way I connect with people. Work was frustrating, like always. There’s really no one else I can tell — you’re all I have out here. I’m trying to make friends. Through the apps, at work… neither’s going great. I talk to people, but I can tell I haven’t found my group yet. I usually just sit alone. It’s not new, but I still hate it — not that I’d tell you that. You know I’m unsure about my job. I don’t want you thinking I’m suffering just to stay here — though I doubt you’d think that. Honestly, I doubt you think of me at all. These entries usually end with me admitting I’m sad or lonely. Maybe both are true. But they’re mine to carry. I just hope he’s not embarrassed of me. I’m trying my best — mostly to stay out of your way, sometimes even out of your life, just to be sure.

[thelanguageidontspeak]

September 9th, 2025

My opinions and thoughts have always been my own. I used to share them freely — now, they usually come with a cost. People look at me differently afterward. They coddle or pity me; sometimes both. I want to tell you everything that’s on my mind, but when I try, my chest tightens — like it’s warning me that if I speak, I won’t survive the cost of it. I miss home. Not necessarily the people, but the feeling of it. I don’t really know how to explain that — it just makes sense to me. Lately, I seem to be the only one I make sense to. I try to keep out of the way — at work, in shops, on the road, even at home. I hate that I’m always waiting for something to go wrong — for the shoe to drop, for the floor to disappear. I feel like I’m waiting for a reason to run back home with my tail between my legs — but that would hurt more than anything. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could express it in a way that wouldn’t make you look at me differently.

[thelanguageidontspeak]

The Language I Don't Speak

This is a collection of fragments — entries written over time when I struggled to put my own feelings into words. Some are raw, some half-formed, some I didn’t even understand why I wrote them. Here, I’m trying to map the space between thought and emotion, language and what lies beneath it. These posts are my attempt to speak what I can’t fully name.