longing

maybe my map isn’t a guide, just a mirror—

showing the places my soul already knew.

what if the wind in this city

whispers my name softer than i’ve ever heard it?

if belonging isn’t blood and borders,

but the way the air fits inside my lungs like it was always meant to?

maybe these streets hum in a language my bones remember,

syllables stitched into my skin

long before i knew their names.

the sky here leans in closer,

as if it has a secret only i am meant to hear, like a slow unfolding, like light spilling through a half-open door?

i live here now. wow.