Thirty. It seems like a beautiful, mature number, filled with meaning. But I still feel somewhere between a girl and a woman.

Sometimes it's scary to admit, but I worry that I'm still alone. That there's no one with whom I can share mornings, coffee, silence, my small victories, and silly fears.
I know that love doesn't come on schedule—but on days like these, I especially long for someone to simply hug me and say, "You're not alone. I'm here for you."

I don't need fairy tales; I need a relationship where I can be myself—real me, without filters or body armor.
I want great, mature, true love. The kind where we can make plans, laugh, argue, make peace, and move on—together.

Maybe this year will change everything.
Maybe 30 isn't a sad milestone, but the starting point of something real. ❤️