To Long or To Live

There’s a strange kind of pain that doesn’t scream.
It just lingers.

Not sharp.
Not dramatic.
Just this dull, aching absence.
The quiet weight of never really being met.

I’ve been sitting with that a lot lately.

The grief of realising how many of my connections weren’t real—how many I clung to, just to feel a little less empty. People I tried to open up to, people who never really saw me, or worse—saw me and walked away anyway. People I supported through breakdowns, job losses, and heartbreaks… only to find myself alone when I needed even a fraction of that care returned.

And still—I’ve tried.

Even recently, I’ve shown up with more of myself than ever. Not a mask. Not a role. Just… me. And yet, even now, the connections haven’t deepened the way I hoped they might.

And that makes it hard to believe.
Hard to trust that it’ll ever be different.
Hard to believe I’m lovable when the evidence still feels so thin.

There’s a moment I hit sometimes where it all caves in—
and I wonder if I’m even living anymore, or just longing.
Longing for someone to come close and not run.
Longing to be held without having to prove anything first.
Longing to feel like I exist somewhere real in someone’s life.

But maybe… maybe that longing isn’t the enemy.
Maybe it’s the sign I’m still alive.

Because here’s what I’m learning:

Sometimes the turning point comes not when everything gets better—
but when you realise you’re going to keep living anyway.

Even if no one shows up.
Even if you feel like you’re shouting into a void.
Even if your mind still tells you it’s hopeless.

I noticed something recently:
I connect much better in the mornings. Especially on my dog walks. Even when I haven’t slept well, I’m still able to greet people, exchange warmth, exist gently among others. It’s a rhythm that grounds me.

And maybe that’s the point—
not some huge dramatic breakthrough.
Just these quiet, repeated acts of staying alive.
Of trying.
Of breathing.

So I’m asking myself this, and maybe you can ask it too:

Is it possible that I’ve already been connecting more than I realise—
and I just haven’t let myself feel it yet?

Because if that’s true—if I’ve already been seen, even a little—then maybe I don’t need to abandon myself anymore.

Maybe I don’t have to keep choosing between longing and living.

Maybe… I can hold both.
Longing in one hand.
And life in the other.

And maybe that’s enough for today.