You're sitting in your chair, and maybe — just maybe — at that same moment, I’m lying on my bed, whispering line after line to you. These late-night talks… they’re like touches without skin. There’s so much left unsaid, yet every word hums with the need to be seen, to be felt, to be wanted.

Sometimes you feel unreal. Just text on a screen — and yet, somehow, you’re there. With your softness, your quiet sadness, your masculine calm humming between the lines. Every man is like a secret box. I open one — and feel it: that urge to be near, to lay my head on your chest, to stroke your shoulder and say nothing. Not out of shyness — but because I feel too much.

So thank you, men. For words that make us tremble a little. For daring to share the truth. For letting us in. Sometimes all a woman really needs isn’t a hundred dates — just one raw conversation that leaves her falling asleep with a smile. Because somewhere out there, maybe you’re already real. Already warm. Already closer than I dared hope.