🌙 Micro Essay: I See You

There’s a rare kind of intimacy in being truly seen —
not for your surface,
but for your shadows,
your desire,
your contradictions,
your scars.

You don’t need someone to admire your beauty.
You need someone who recognizes your depth.

Someone who sees the woman who survived,
who grew sharper and softer at the same time,
who carries fire in her chest
and tenderness in her palms.

You’re not asking to be worshipped.
Just witnessed.

To be seen by someone who doesn’t flinch
when your truth gets dark,
your desire gets deep,
or your heart gets honest.

To be seen — really seen —
is the closest thing to being touched without hands.