I wanted someone who already knew how my silence changes

Dear Delyara, I think that is the form of closeness I miss most. Someone who doesn’t just know me in facts, but in changes. Someone who knows how my silence sounds on a normal day and how it sounds when I’m carrying more than I’m saying. Someone who can feel the difference between distance, exhaustion, hurt, and the kind of quiet that means “I don’t have words yet, but please don’t misread me.” That kind of being-known feels rare enough to ache. I think loneliness now is often the absence of that specific accuracy.