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They see my kindness, my purity, my heart, but not in the way I wish to be seen. They admire, they are drawn but never enough to stay. I am a presence too strong, a soul too deep something they marvel at but never claim. They touch the surface, trace the edges, but never dare to dive. Some are too afraid of depth, so they keep me at arm’s length. They call it admiration, call it desire, but it is neither, just a hollow pull, attraction without devotion. I deserve to be loved for all that I am, not just longed for in glimpses, not just wanted in passing, not just almost. Yet knowing this doesn’t make it hurt any less.