Sometimes I wonder if needing distance makes me selfish. 😅 I love people, I care, I want connection—but I also want silence, breathing room, the freedom to think without interruption. Why does that feel so dangerous?

Then there’s guilt. 💔 Guilt for wanting time alone, guilt for resenting the noise in my head, guilt for imagining life with fewer expectations. And yet, when I finally let myself exist in that quiet, I feel… alive. Like I’ve been holding my breath and just remembered how to exhale.

It’s strange, this balancing act between closeness and solitude. 🤷‍♀️ I wonder if I’ll ever find someone who understands that space isn’t absence, but part of how I love fully. Or maybe I’ll always feel like an outsider in relationships, too aware of the edges, too protective of my own universe.

But maybe that’s okay. 💫 Maybe the point isn’t to fit neatly into someone else’s orbit, but to keep exploring my own, learning to exist without apology. And I can’t help asking myself: is it selfish to protect your world, or is it the only way to survive in someone else’s chaos? 🌿