Sometimes it’s hard to explain why something matters.
Not because it doesn’t, but because it does in a way that doesn’t translate easily.
You try to put it into words.
You almost get there.
But it never quite feels like enough.
So you stop trying to explain it.
And just… feel it.
It shows up in small ways.
Something you’re drawn to, without overthinking it.
Something you come back to more than once.
Not because you’ve decided on it.
Because something in you already has.
It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else.
It doesn’t even need to make full sense to you.
You just know it carries something.
A memory.
A person.
A version of you.
A moment you haven’t fully put into words yet.
And maybe you never will.
Some things aren’t meant to be explained.
They’re meant to be held.
Felt.
Returned to.
Recognised, without needing to be defined.
And in those moments,
it’s not about finding the right words.
It’s about having something, that says it, without needing to.
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