Still Hoping

Maybe I talk too much, or not enough. Maybe I laugh at the wrong times, or stay quiet when I should speak. Maybe my heart is just too loud, too messy, too full of cracks for anyone to hold. I try to be easy, but I come with stories, with scars, with silence. People leave, and I tell myself it’s okay— maybe I’m just hard to love. But somewhere, deep down, a small voice whispers: You are not unlovable. Just waiting for someone who sees love in your storm.