I want someone who asks how I am
and actually waits for the answer.

Someone who notices when I go quiet,
when my voice shifts just enough to matter,
when my smile shows up without its strength behind it.

I want someone who worries if I’ve eaten,
not as control, but as care.
Who knows I forget meals when I’m overwhelmed.
Who understands the difference between “I’m fine”
and I’m holding myself together.

I want someone who knows my face.
My tone.
My patterns.
The way my body changes when something is wrong
before I ever say it out loud.

I want someone who is clingy in the healthy way.
Who wants closeness and does not apologize for it.
Who reaches for me often
and wants to be reached for in return.

I want lovey.
Soft.
Present.
A body that wants to touch and be touched,
without hesitation or restraint.

I want someone who is excited to hear from me.
Every time.
Someone whose attention does not feel rationed,
earned, or conditional.

I want to know I matter.
I want to know my caring is felt, and that it lands somewhere safe.

I want emotional attunement.
Someone whose feelings do not run when things get hard.
Someone who stays curious instead of defensive,
who leans in instead of pulling away.

I want to know what it is like
to be wanted enough to spark a little fear.
Not ownership.
Not control.

Just that brief, human flicker of jealousy.
The awareness that others desire me,
and for a moment,
he is afraid he could lose me.

Not because I threaten to leave,
but because my presence matters.

I am not asking for change.
I am trying to understand how I fit into his world.
I am asking where I belong,
not demanding he rearrange everything to make space for me.

And beneath all of this wanting
is the quiet grief I do not talk about much.

Because knowing what I want
does not mean I will get it.

Speaking what I want
has never been a guarantee of care.

Sometimes it leaves me exposed,
with egg on my face,
with someone pointing, laughing,
as if wanting were foolish,
as if hope were something to be embarrassed by.

Still, this is what I want.
Even knowing that wanting it
may be the loneliest part of all.

© Wynter Rayne 2026. All Rights Reserved.