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There is a solitude that walks with me not an absence of people, but an absence of being truly seen. The Stoics called it ataraxia. The existentialists called it being. I just call it mine. Loneliness is not emptiness. It is a room where the self finally echoes back. In that quiet, I meet the parts of me that noise drowns out: my doubts, my God, my becoming. Perhaps we are all islands, and connection is the fragile bridge we build between them. And maybe the point isn’t to escape the island. Maybe the point is to learn how to live on it, without resentment, until someone worthy crosses the water. I don’t want to be chased. I want to be chosen. I want a man who looks at me like I’m his peace in a noisy world. Like I’m the answer to a prayer he didn’t know he was praying. I want a man who leads with God, who protects my softness, who builds with me, not just beside me. Someone who prays for me when I can’t pray for myself. Who speaks life over me. Who is proud of me in public and gentle with me in private. I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for present. For purposeful. For a man whose heart is aligned with mine and with God. That’s the kind of love I’m ready for.