Dear you ...

There are days when I wonder what it feels like to be chosen—not by accident, not by convenience, not because I happened to be standing nearby when someone needed something—but chosen with intention. I’ve spent much of my life being easy to like, easy to talk to, easy to lean on, and somehow that ease became the very thing people took for granted. I’ve become the person others visit when their world shakes, the one they vent to, the one they thank once and forget twice. And yet, all I’ve ever wanted was for someone to look at me the way I look at them—with a steady kind of certainty, the quiet declaration that “you matter, and I choose you.”

In the in-between of wanting and waiting,

I stitch myself with hope,

Threading the “maybe”s into prayers,

Hoping someone will call it home.

Maybe that sounds dramatic, but the truth is subtle aches often go unnoticed. You can be surrounded by people and still feel like a placeholder, like someone temporarily filling the space until something—or someone—better comes along. And the worst part is that I keep showing up anyway. I keep listening, keep caring, keep offering pieces of myself like soft gifts no one asked for. It’s not that I expect grand gestures; I just wish someone would stay long enough to see the way I smile when I talk about things I love, or the way I grow quiet when I’m hurting. I wish someone would choose to understand me without being asked.

I’m writing this letter not as a complaint but as a confession—an unveiling. I want to be chosen for once. Not because of what I can offer, not because I make things easier, not because I’m convenient, but because I am me. Because someone sees something worth staying for. Because someone decides that my presence is not a temporary comfort but a lasting one. I know love and friendship can’t be forced, and I would never want them to be; still, the longing remains, gentle but persistent.

So here I am,

Hands open, heart soft,

Standing in my own quiet truth,

Hoping someday someone stays.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that being liked has never been the problem. People like me easily—sometimes too easily. They like the calm I bring, the softness, the safe space. But liking someone and choosing them are two very different languages, and I have grown fluent in the silence between them. Still, even after all of this, I haven’t lost hope. Maybe that’s my strength or maybe it’s my flaw, but I believe the right people do arrive, and when they do, something inside you finally exhales.

And so I leave myself, and you, with this reminder: It’s easy for people to like you, but not everyone chooses to be with you. And those who choose—keep them close, hold them tight.

Good music never hurts !

With love 💌

~ Naira ✨