Why is it that sometimes we find peace with strangers, with people we met later in life, rather than with our own blood?
Why is it that no matter how hard we try to explain ourselves to the ones we grew up with, they still don't understand?
Yet someone new can pick up on the smallest shift like an expression, a pause in our texts, a different tone. and they just know something's wrong.
It's like they can read the silence between our words.
And it makes you wonder, how can someone you've known for only a short time see straight through you, while the ones who've been there for years still see only the surface?
Maybe connection isn't about time. Maybe it's about energy, about feeling safe, seen, and understood without needing to shout for it.
Sometimes it's not the shared blood that bonds us, but the shared understanding, the kind that doesn't need to be explained.
And maybe that's okay.
Because sometimes, family isn't who you're born to.
It's who listens when your voice breaks even when you haven't spoken.