While the Ocean Hold Its Breath

she is the ocean.

“I can be less, if you want me to.”

I think it’s strangely common for people to shrink themselves into a façade of being when they’re in love.

Just to fit the vibe. Just to laugh at every joke. Just to sink into the love offered right in front of them.

In return came a fleeting bliss — a temporary contentment, mistaken for enough. But in the long run, it will catch up.

You’ll pretend you don’t crave more, like you don’t long to be truly known. Disguising yourself so long, you honestly forget how to unwrap the identity you forced yourself to wear.

Until you feel sorry for being vast, and you decide it’s better to be known less; you forget your own depths, you settle for something superficial.

That’s why I don’t understand this nature of being. I don’t understand why we always want to be loved — even at the cost of being less. It’s frustrating to think we’d actually let ourselves be small for someone, when we were meant to be deep.

Wide. Beyond bounds.

That’s why I think it’s brave to be an ocean of one’s own. For those called “too much” or “too deep,” for those whose heart overflow the limits of a lake.

they openly long for more space, knowing not everyone can hold it. They don’t restrain themselves for someone. They let you choose: sink or drown.

Sink deeper into their being or drown — befitting.

“I can never be less, even if you want me to.”

I believe real love — the kind that becomes home will never ask you to dim. It should let you breathe at your own rhythm, rise and fall like the tides, crash when needed, and still return to calm.

Even if we’re not the same. Even if all we ever do is meet at the shore.

If I can dance this tide of life with you as myself — untamed, deep, and true — then I’ll know, this love will always be enough.

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