not really a letter. not yet. maybe just… a beginning.

hi.

i’m not sure how to begin, so maybe i’ll start with this:

i think i love like someone who’s always been told they’re too much.

so i give people little pieces of myself, quietly, slowly. like i’m afraid they’ll flinch.

i overthink texts.

i say “sorry” even when i’m not wrong.

i remember the smallest things, like the way people take their coffee or what song they skip halfway through.

i fall for the details.

and that’s probably why i noticed you in the first place.

i don’t know you, not really.

but the idea of you lives in my head like a song i haven’t heard all the way through.

just a few notes, looping.

and i want to know more.

not just your favorite color, but the way you say it.

not just your birthday, but how you feel about getting older.

this is me introducing myself without saying my name.

because maybe this isn’t about names.

maybe it’s about the timing of two people wondering if the other is out there wondering too.

so, hi. again.

i’m your almost.

your maybe.

your stranger with a heart too loud at night.

i write letters i don’t send.

i save photos i never post.

i stare at the stars like they owe me answers.

and sometimes i imagine bumping into you at a bookstore or a train station or somewhere cinematic like that.

like the universe finally sighed and said, “okay, fine, here.”

and you’d ask me who i am.

and maybe, this time,

i’d know what to say.