And after all — you’re my Wonderwall.
to my dearest friend who kept me grounded when everything was shaking; thank you. i loaf u
“Is it better to speak or to die?”
I am no loquacious woman. People have known that for long now.
I try to convey the words I write through vibrations — the low hums of a mind too loud for its own body — hoping I can break the shield my fear of vulnerability has long built.
Yet, I hesitate.
I speak laconically — softer than ever, so no one tries to reproach the anger I let out when I raise my voice.
I choose to let myself die rather than speak because speaking your thoughts out loud meant experiencing death itself with a hotter hell.
But when it comes to you — I scream.
I don’t measure how many decibels my voice reaches. I don’t assess the weight of my words as if they could scale love and tolerance.
You showed me how kindness isn’t a label you put on someone based on the words you choose or the way you voice them.
And for the first time — I felt raw.
I acted unfiltered, angry, and full of rage in front of you — but not once did you hold it against me.
Not once did you make me feel foolish for expressing what I felt.
Instead, you held me softly, yet strongly enough to withstand how deeply shaken I was.
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You gave me sunlight whenever I got drenched in storms.
You loved me so loudly and evidently that all my problems tuned themselves down.
With everybody else, my words remained trapped inside my throat as a quiet vibration; it was a language only my anxiety could read.
Yet with you, that vibration breaks effortlessly as you learned how to decode my silence even before I was able to translate it into sound.
You’ve seen me cry, you’ve seen me angry, you’ve seen me happy — you’ve witnessed almost every version of me; all I have left unseen by you is the love for you I never had the courage to express.
Oasis was right; there are many things I’d like to say to you, but I don’t know how.
If I had taken everything we had for granted back then, I’m sorry — because now, I’d never stop telling you how much you’ve saved me: the scarred, silenced me.
When I see you laugh, I smile subconsciously.
You had that familiar laugh that immediately made me forget what I was hurting over. You had that kind of presence I turn to as home, as if it were second nature.
With your silly banter and caring messages, you erode my rough edges and soften them into love.
For the longest time, I thought keeping my voice inside me was the safest option — a route that saved me from a hotter hell. But you showed me how speaking never destroys you but strengthens you as a person.
Because of you, I let the tremor rise — I speak a little louder, cry a little less, and love a lot harder.
So, I’d love to say this as loudly as I can:
I love you endlessly.
Thank you for being my Wonderwall :)
