Belonging

There is a quiet kind of loneliness in always being the new person.
The one who arrives after the laughter has already settled into rhythm.
The one who listens first, speaks carefully, and wonders where their voice might fit.

I don’t just want people around me.
I want my people.

The kind of belonging that doesn’t ask you to shrink or explain yourself.
The kind that feels like being understood without having to translate your heart.