What if I never meet someone who just gets me? Who knows exactly when to pull me in for a hug without saying a word because they can see the weight I’m carrying? Who can look at me, see the mess, and not flinch but stay anyway, not because they feel sorry for me, but because they love me for all of it, the good, the bad, and the parts that are still unfinished? What if I live my whole life waiting for someone to show up, and they never do?