"He didn't rescue me. He just sat beside me — and that was enough."
Dear Diary,
He doesn't try to fix me.
And maybe that's why I'm healing.
He doesn't tell me to smile more.
He doesn't shrink my sadness into clichés.
He just listens — really listens —
like my thoughts are songs he wants to learn the words to.
When I talk, he looks at me like nothing else exists.
Not the ticking clock,
not the passing cars,
not even the birds writing poems across the sky.
Just me.
And in a world that's always rushing me,
he slows everything down.
He brings me quiet.
Not the scary kind.
Not the kind that feels like being forgotten.
But the safe kind —
the kind you find between two heartbeats,
where nothing hurts
and everything breathes.
When I'm with him,
I don't feel like I have to be anything.
Not clever.
Not pretty.
Not strong.
Just Wunor —
the girl who feels too much, dreams too loud, and cries at sunsets.
He sees me — the whole me — and never flinches.
Once, I told him my favorite constellation.
The next night, he pointed at it and whispered,
"That's yours."
And suddenly, the sky wasn't so far away.
Sometimes we sit in silence for hours.
No words.
Just wind and warmth and the rhythm of existing together.
And that silence says everything:
I'm here.
You're safe.
You don't have to carry it alone.
He brings me stillness in a world full of noise.
And in that stillness,
my heart remembers how to be soft.
So no, he didn't come with loud promises or dramatic gestures.
He came with presence.
With patience.
With peace.
And that, Diary,
feels like the rarest kind of love.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor ☁️🕊️