There’s a whole me you don’t see—
the one who laughs too loud,
snorts mid-sentence,
sends memes at 2 a.m.
just to say I’m thinking of you.

You get the quiet draft.
The version that double-checks her words,
swallows the urge to reach out first,
tidies her feelings before handing them over.

You don’t see the woman
who wants to kiss the air between words,
who aches to touch your face mid-laugh,
who feels warmth bloom like wildfire
just from being near you.

You get the one who sits on her hands,
who counts the spaces between messages,
who learns the rhythm of restraint.
The one who edits herself down
to something easier to keep.

Because I’ve learned—
the unfiltered me is too much.
Too eager. Too honest. Too alive.

So I hide the parts
that love out loud,
that crave without apology,
that would rather be rejected
for being everything—
than accepted
for being half.

© Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved.