I sit alone in my room, the air thick with everything left unsaid. It’s hard to shake the feeling that I’ve been judged for too long, like there's something inherently wrong with me. My parents—especially my dad—always looked at me like I was a disappointment, like I wasn’t living up to the person they wanted me to be. Their words hang in the air, and I can't help but feel... tainted.

But tonight, the quiet is different. There’s a soft comfort settling in, something warm pushing against the usual weight of expectation.

I think of you. The person who made everything seem less heavy. Your voice is still clear in my head, like a lifeline cutting through the noise. Every time I was with you, it felt different—lighter. Your love didn’t have strings attached or conditions. It wasn’t about who I should be; it was about who I was.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself believe it. Believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not broken. That I’m not sinful or flawed the way they made me feel. It’s strange, this sense of relief, as if a burden has been lifted. I breathe deeply, repeating to myself, “Don’t be scared, little child, you’re no demon.” It’s like I’m talking to the younger version of me—the one who needed to hear that most.

Your love, the way you saw me... it feels like my own version of heaven. Not some grand, untouchable paradise, but something small, personal, and real. For once, I’m not scared of it. I think I’ve finally found it—peace in who I am, despite what others think.