Crow and Flame

Loneliness is not always loud.

Sometimes it’s the quiet after you’ve explained yourself one too many times.

Sometimes it’s the space beside you on the couch that never quite fills,

no matter how many people say they’re “here.”

The crow knows this quiet.

The crow perches and watches.

It survives long winters alone, not because it prefers solitude,

but because it has learned how to endure it.

The flame knows it too.

The flame flickers strongest in the dark,

but even fire needs something to burn against—

air, wood, another flame—

or it dims.

Loneliness is not a personal failure.

It is not proof that you are unlovable or too much or not enough.

It is what happens when your inner world grows deeper

faster than the people around you can follow.

Sometimes you outgrow rooms.

Sometimes you survive things others cannot imagine.

Sometimes you learn truths that don’t fit into casual conversation.

And suddenly, you are standing in a life that looks full from the outside

and feels echoing from within.

The crow does not scold itself for flying alone.

It does not apologize for needing distance to see clearly.

It trusts that its voice will carry when another crow is near enough to hear it.

The flame does not shame itself for wavering.

It does not pretend to be steady when the wind is strong.

It leans, it bends, it keeps going anyway.

Loneliness is not the absence of people.

It is the absence of being seen.

It is the ache of wanting someone to sit beside you

without fixing you,

without rushing you,

without asking you to be brighter or quieter or easier.

And still—

you are here.

Still—

you tend the flame even when no one is watching.

Still—

you gather the pieces of yourself and keep them warm.

Still—

you speak, even when your voice shakes.

The crow circles back.

The flame waits.

Connection is not always immediate,

but it is not imaginary either.

One day, someone will recognize your language.

One day, your quiet will meet another quiet and feel like home.

One day, your fire will catch and you won’t have to burn alone.

Until then—

you are not broken for feeling this.

You are not weak for wanting more.

You are not alone in your loneliness.

The crow is with you.

The flame is still lit.