the languages we don't speak

November 16th, 2025—

I read today that there are 7,164 languages spoken across the world, and not one of them I could understand if they spilled from your lips. Behind words I recognize are arrows that miss their target, the frustration festering more and more with each miscalculation.

When will I stop auditioning for love?

Every flaw of mine is worthy of trial while yours are interwoven into the law.

I have been an audience member in the play of my own life. This was a thought that came to me in the midst of a calming evening shower at the end of one of the best days I’ve had in a long while. It reminded me then of what Christine recently told me— that the most persistent thing about me is that I always find a way of coming back to myself. As my therapist of now nearly 3 years, her words carried a weight I did not know needed to be lifted from me.

This week I went on a walk at a pace that felt like I wasn’t chasing anything nor was I being chased. This week I put aside my phone and didn’t care to pick it up because my thoughts were company enough. This week I had drinks with a new friend who I clicked with instantly. This week I shed any expectations I had for myself, for others, for the world, and I allowed things to happen instead. This week I allowed things to happen, people to be, and in turn, I allowed myself to make an appearance. It wasn’t grand, but it wasn’t subtle either. I felt profound in a way that was authentic and unapologetic, in a way that said I might disappear again, but if I do, I’ll be back.