seen, not known (Sunday afternoon musings)

I’ve never been someone who believes in absolutes. Nothing is ever just one thing. No one is either. And still, I’ve been called distant. Or cold. Or someone who doesn’t trust. But that’s not it.

I trust that things are layered. That people are capable of hurting and healing in the same breath. That we’re not built to be perfect. We’re built to be real. Messy. Sometimes kind. Sometimes withdrawn. Sometimes trying our best without knowing what that even looks like.

I’ve loved people I couldn’t keep. I’ve let go when I wasn’t ready. I’ve held on too long, too tightly. And I’ve remembered without regret. Not because the past didn’t hurt, but because it mattered. And because I was fully there.

I made memories in Noordwijk. I made memories in Brussels. I failed making memories in Nancy. It’s all part of me. Within me.

Sometimes I still am. In the music. In a voice I haven’t heard in years but still recognise when it echoes somewhere in me. In the weight of a lyric I don’t quite understand but feel all the same.

I know that every story has more than one side. That I’ve been someone’s soft place and someone else’s disappointment. That I’ve done my best and still got it wrong. And I’m learning that it doesn’t mean I failed. It just means I’m my authentic self.

My truth isn’t yours. Unless we talk. Unless we listen, we will never know. And most of us don’t. Not really.

About 95 percent of the people who come here never say a word. You scroll, you read, you leave. I see your country. Sometimes your city. I wonder about you. What you carry. Whether something stayed with you or just passed through.

And that’s okay, because I am the same. I am Luxembourg in your stats. Most often just quietly reading, nodding my head and moving on. I am the same as you.

Then there’s the small handful who write back. You send a message. Leave a comment. Sometimes just a line or two. I carry those with me too.

You’re quiet, but I see you.

I feel invisible most days, but I know I’m not a shadow.

There’s a rhythm to this, to how I live and write. I move between closeness and distance. Between presence and withdrawal. I give what I can. I keep some for myself. Some days I need silence more than answers. Some days I want to tell everything to someone who won’t interrupt. That’s when I bleed words on the page or on the blog.

Most nights I write with music in my ears. Often the same few songs that inspire one thought or feeling. The same voices. They calm something in me. Not always the words. Sometimes just the tone. The honesty in it. I think that’s what I’m drawn to most. Not perfection. Not brilliance. Just truth. Just someone meaning what they say.

That’s why I love to receive draft songs. And I still receive those from multiple artists. Some are masterpieces even in their raw form. Others are fillers at best. But that’s how life is. Not everything is a spectacle or a milestone. Some things are silent and quietly move us forward, almost unnoticed.

That’s what I want for myself too. Not to be understood completely. Just to be felt as I am. To be known as raw and authentic and unapologetically me.

Maybe that’s my age talking. Years ago, I was probably the opposite of this, even on this very blog.

I’ve learned not everything needs a conclusion. Not everything has to be said out loud. Some things can stay as they are. Unresolved. Open. Quiet.

And still. What most of us want is to be loved. Accepted. Tolerated for who we are. For our quirks. For our flaws. But also for the things that make us different. The way we see the world. The way we stay soft in it.

I sometimes wish I had been acknowledged more clearly for my part in certain creative projects. I know what I contributed. I don’t need applause. But maybe I needed to be named.

At the same time, I want to stay hidden. I don’t want to be a target. I don’t want my voice picked apart or misunderstood. I want my poetry to be read, but I don’t want to be known. I want to hear if something resonated, but not if it fell flat or meant nothing.

Still, being seen gently, for who you are, feels good.

It is better than wondering if your presence went unnoticed.

So, after all these words… what stays? Me? You? Two ways, or more, of reading the same lines.