The cliff is calling

and for once, I’m listening.

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It’s 11:51 PM.

I’m staring at my ceiling, waiting for midnight so I can listen to Gabzy’s new drop.

And I won’t lie, I wish I wasn’t listening alone.

But…life happens.

I’ve been thinking. Not just about today, but this whole week.

Last week too.

Maybe even last year, if I’m being honest.

There’s this strange space I’ve found myself in lately. The in-between.

Where you know exactly what you don’t want,

But you still have no name for what you want. Where silence feels louder than certainty.

I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know it’s not chaos disguised as passion.

Not longing that never lands.

Not softness that comes with splinters. I keep circling memories I never meant to keep.

Replaying moments I swore I’d moved past. Sometimes I wonder if it’s love I miss,

Or the idea of being chosen.

There are days I feel brave enough to let go.

To say: “this isn’t it, and I deserve better.”

And then there are days where I scroll through songs, messages, signs

searching for something to justify staying soft. It’s like my heart and my head are playing tug-of-war

while my soul watches from the corner, arms folded, waiting for me to decide who I want to be.

I’m tired of holding space for potential. Of romanticizing maybe. Of thinking I can love someone into becoming.

Who told us that was love?

I want to feel safe where I rest.

I want to speak without shrinking.

To be seen in full, edges and all, and not just in glimpses.

I want to yearn and still feel grounded.

To dance with someone whose presence doesn’t feel like a cliff.

And maybe I’ll find it. Maybe I won’t.

But at least I’ve stopped lying to myself about what I can’t carry anymore.

There’s one sentence that always rings in my head: If you don’t know what to pursue, pursue yourself.

And I think… that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I’ve made it a point to sit with my feelings, to redirect them gently, slowly, toward light.

I set daily goals. Tiny targets that pull me through the fog.

Movement helps.

I gym. I walk. Sometimes I cross 10,000 steps without even noticing.

Self-care too—daily, deliberate.

Affirmations. Mirror work. Little rituals to remind myself that I’m still worth every damn thing.

It’s hard to lead a life that actually feels good from the inside.

It takes so much effort to build peace in a world that profits off your pain.

But then, in those quiet moments,

when I’m eating a well-made meal, watching the sky shift,

listening to birds without needing to speak, I remember why I’m doing all this.

Because I love myself too much not to.

Still… that doesn’t mean I don’t want company.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be loved. And I’ve made peace with that too.

One day, I know I won’t have to shrink to feel wanted.

I won’t have to fold myself into someone else’s version of love.

I’ll exist fully, loudly, softly, in love that feels like home.

And if anyone ever asks, “Why do you always write about love?”

I’ll say: because love is the one thing that keeps evolving. Because it’s the mystery and the answer.

Because I believe—deep down—that one of our reasons for being here is to love.

Not just romantically, but wholly. Friendship. Family. Faith. Self.

So no, I’ll never stop writing about love.

Because love is crazy.

But love is everything.

It’s midnight and I’m listening to Gabzy.

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