I told myself it was just the world breathing in and out, but every gust of wind was your name sliding past my face, every shiver a reminder that absence has a taste.
This feels like watching someone map the exact physics of longing instead of just saying “I miss you.” The way you sit with the body in the room, the objects, the tiny details of staying open to someone who never arrives—it reads like an anatomy lesson in absence, not just emotion for emotion’s sake. It’s quiet, but it has teeth.
I just put out a piece called Why Forgiving Them Didn’t Make You Feel Better, about what happens when you’re told to “let go” while your whole nervous system is still standing at an open window like this. Different angle, same gravity: how we’re asked to be done with things that are still very much living in us.
There’s a certain grace in surrendering to what will never return — as if the ache itself becomes a quiet form of prayer. In that still orbit between hope and acceptance, something wordless watches over us — not to promise arrival, but to remind us that even longing has light of its own.
Waiting can feel like its own kind of world, where every breath hopes to be met by another. The heart reaches, and the silence answers. But even in that emptiness, there is something gentle, the courage to keep loving, even when no one comes to the window. Sometimes the person we think we are waiting for is really ourselves, slowly returning after a long night.
Be kind to your heart. Dawn always arrives, even when we feel alone in the dark. 🙏
You have deep sense of feeling. Touched deep inside.
" There’s a strange kind of intimacy in waiting for someone who doesn’t arrive. You learn to measure time by the things that almost touch you: the rhythm of your own heartbeat, the whisper of curtains, the way a single candle flame trembles as if it knows. I traced the shapes of the room with my eyes - the chipped paint on the windowsill, the stack of books that always threatened to fall, the little dent in the floorboards beneath the bed - and thought that maybe staying present for all of it was how I could prove my patience, my worth. I kept counting the minutes, the hours, pretending that if I simply stayed open enough, somehow the one would find me, that the night would bend to my hope, that absence might be persuaded to deliver presence. "
Specially this paragraph is too touchy, and resembling with my inner thoughts.
Kyra, this is very well written. I especially love your clear images when you are conveying your feelings and emotions. It is an excellent example of T.S. Elliot’s objective correlative. The images in the piece objectify the emotions, which are conveyed by the images. You have a knack for writing romance in a high literary style.
That’s such a generous and thoughtful comment — thank you! I love that you brought up the objective correlative; I’ve always been drawn to writing where feeling lives inside imagery rather than explanation.
WOW!!! They say a picture paints a thousand words but truly your words have painted a picture! 💖🖼️
This is so very kind! Thank you Sharon 🫶😭
This feels like watching someone map the exact physics of longing instead of just saying “I miss you.” The way you sit with the body in the room, the objects, the tiny details of staying open to someone who never arrives—it reads like an anatomy lesson in absence, not just emotion for emotion’s sake. It’s quiet, but it has teeth.
I just put out a piece called Why Forgiving Them Didn’t Make You Feel Better, about what happens when you’re told to “let go” while your whole nervous system is still standing at an open window like this. Different angle, same gravity: how we’re asked to be done with things that are still very much living in us.
https://open.substack.com/pub/thehumanmechanism/p/why-forgiving-them-didnt-make-you?r=6szb4h&utm_medium=ios
This is so kind, thank you so much for reading! I can’t wait to read your piece as well! 💞🥹
Definite WOW factor. I could read a 1,000 pages of your writing -- your descripting writing flies along the page.
Keep up the great work!
Oh my gosh! Thank you so so much Kathryn! This is such a genuine compliment and it means the world to me
You’re welcome!
Waiting truly is painful. I’ve felt it too. Holding on the something that you know would never come. You’ve explained it beautifully.
Thank you so much 🙏🥹
Your words love me deeply. Beautifully written and the pictures you pained are both beautiful and deeply sad
Oh Zoe, thank you so much!! This is so kind and truly means everything to me 🥹🥹
There’s a certain grace in surrendering to what will never return — as if the ache itself becomes a quiet form of prayer. In that still orbit between hope and acceptance, something wordless watches over us — not to promise arrival, but to remind us that even longing has light of its own.
I love this so much, thank you for taking the time to read - I really appreciate it 🥹🫶
Thank you. What I’ve seen here touches not just thought, but the quiet field beneath it.
This is wonderful.
Thank you !! 💞🥹
You have written a lovely piece. Thank you for posting this.
Thank you so more for reading Dorie 🫶
Absolutely. You are very welcome.🩷
nice! I could feel it. :)
🫶🫶
So tender and full of feeling Kyra 🙏🏼
Waiting can feel like its own kind of world, where every breath hopes to be met by another. The heart reaches, and the silence answers. But even in that emptiness, there is something gentle, the courage to keep loving, even when no one comes to the window. Sometimes the person we think we are waiting for is really ourselves, slowly returning after a long night.
Be kind to your heart. Dawn always arrives, even when we feel alone in the dark. 🙏
Thank you so much Nick 🥹💞
You have deep sense of feeling. Touched deep inside.
" There’s a strange kind of intimacy in waiting for someone who doesn’t arrive. You learn to measure time by the things that almost touch you: the rhythm of your own heartbeat, the whisper of curtains, the way a single candle flame trembles as if it knows. I traced the shapes of the room with my eyes - the chipped paint on the windowsill, the stack of books that always threatened to fall, the little dent in the floorboards beneath the bed - and thought that maybe staying present for all of it was how I could prove my patience, my worth. I kept counting the minutes, the hours, pretending that if I simply stayed open enough, somehow the one would find me, that the night would bend to my hope, that absence might be persuaded to deliver presence. "
Specially this paragraph is too touchy, and resembling with my inner thoughts.
That paragraph was tough for me to write! Thank you for taking the time to read 🫶🫶
I love reading so no need to thank, but I am great full to you for sharing such nice peace.
Kyra, this is very well written. I especially love your clear images when you are conveying your feelings and emotions. It is an excellent example of T.S. Elliot’s objective correlative. The images in the piece objectify the emotions, which are conveyed by the images. You have a knack for writing romance in a high literary style.
That’s such a generous and thoughtful comment — thank you! I love that you brought up the objective correlative; I’ve always been drawn to writing where feeling lives inside imagery rather than explanation.
It really comes through in your writing. You weave the images very naturally and skillfully.
Beautiful and haunting, gives a real feeling of aching and longing.
Thank you so much Gary!
Very nice read Kyra 👍
Thank you! 💞🥹
My eyes are full of tears.. thank you for this one..
Thank you for reading Ana, your support means the world 🫶
True…beautifully written!
Thank you Hina!!