I am open to connection, but I carry a quiet weariness.
New people often remind me why I choose to stay in my own lane, close to those I know and trust. The topic of connections, friendship or potential romantic partner.
It isn’t surprising.
So many come online searching for companionship, but they arrive unhealed—forgetting that connection is not a one-way street. Friendship is mutual. It asks for reciprocity, not just reception.
I’ve learned that boundaries are not walls; they are invitations to meet me where care flows both ways.
And when I find those rare souls who remember to pour back into me as I pour into them, I know I’ve found the kind of connection worth keeping.
The boundaries come trickling in, shaped by memory.
I recall the distant past, when I poured oceans into others, only to be handed drops of water from a dry well.
That imbalance taught me something: generosity without reciprocity is erosion.
It wears away at the self until you learn to guard your shoreline.
Now, I measure connection differently.
I no longer drink from empty wells.
I wait for the ones who bring their own oceans, that sways in all directions, all around. For the ocean is self-aware, and makes extensions without hesitation.
I claim its potential with ease, because it isn’t frightening to try.
It feels natural—just as a river carves its course through the land,
so does mutual care carve its place in me.
We step into it’s uncertain depths, with confidence.
My former thought of wanting to close myself off, dissipates little by little, for there is joy in being a free little nightingale to sing in the open, not caged by the weariness of travel. To share my song, of who I am, and there may be the pleasant of travelers to bid me hello.
Be well.