cloudywavej

[cloudywavej]

if you read this, pretend we’re on a rooftop at night sharing secrets

the sky is dark but not scary.

there’s wind blowing your hair and the city lights below us blink like they know our names.

we’re sitting cross-legged on the rooftop, hoodie sleeves pulled over our hands,

saying things we’d never admit in the daylight.

no phones. no noise. just us and the soft hum of the universe.

i tell you about the dreams i never chased.

you tell me the parts of yourself no one claps for.

we laugh quietly.

maybe cry a little.

nothing needs to be fixed tonight.

we’re just heard.

and that’s enough.

[cloudywavej]

i don’t need a love story.

i just need good earphones and a sky full of sound.

[cloudywavej]

i like being loved like this.

not in the way movies show it.

but in the way he sends me songs.

in the way he never lets me sleep with a heavy heart.

in the way his hoodie still smells like me.

[cloudywavej]

i am not hard to love, i am just hard to reach

i feel things deeply but rarely say them out loud.

i want to be understood without always knowing how to explain myself.

i care, quietly.

from a distance.

in ways you might miss if you’re not paying attention.

it’s not that i push people away.

i just build walls made of soft things.

silence. half-smiles. ���i’m fine”s.

it’s not that i don’t want to be loved.

i just want to be loved in the language i speak best:

patience. presence. safety.

i’m not hard to love.

i just need someone who’s willing to walk a little slower,

to meet me where i am.

[cloudywavej]

i don’t have a favorite genre, i have favorite versions of myself

people ask me what kind of music i like like it’s a simple question.

but really, i’m just chasing moments.

versions of myself i want to remember or forget.

sometimes it’s the raw ache of indie folk,

sometimes the electric rush of hard rock,

sometimes the quiet hum of ambient soundscapes.

it’s less about the genre and more about who i was when the song played,

the mood i was in, the memories attached, the story behind every beat.

music is less of a category and more of a diary.

a playlist of selves,

each track a snapshot of my soul on a different day.

so don’t ask me my favorite genre.

ask me which version of me you want to meet.