'Somewhere I Was Held'

Some nights, I swear I remember a place I've never been. A warmth I've never felt except in dreams or songs I've played too often when the room got too quiet. It feels like love once lived here— not in this body, not in this life, but somewhere close enough that I still smell it in the folds of old sweaters and in the corners of my silence. There are days I miss things I've never known— gentle hands brushing hair from my tired eyes, arms that know exactly when to hold me tighter without a word. I miss being seen without explanation I miss being soft without apology. I miss the version of me that didn't flinch at her own reflection or wonder if love was something she deserved. Sometimes I sit with the emptiness beside me, like an old friend who never speaks but always stays. And I let the ache rise, not to be fixed, but to be felt— because even pain means I'm still hoping. Still open. Still human. I don't know if you're out there— the one who'll look at me like a homecoming and not a puzzle to solve. But if you are, I hope you're longing, too. I hope your heart aches at odd hours and thinks of me, the way mine keeps remembering something it's never truly known. ~Vee