mere
There is something about him, it carries a strange kind of certainty one that quietly dissolves every defense I’ve ever built. Every word he speaks feels deliberate, as if silence itself had chosen to become language. I find myself melting into the cadence of his thoughts before I even realize it.
He is, perhaps, a little selfish.
Or maybe he simply refuses to compromise the way he sees the world.
His mind is difficult to enter, even more difficult to predict. There are moments when I think I almost understand him, only to discover another layer that reshapes everything I thought I knew. It’s frustrating, fascinating, and, if I’m being truthful, a little frightening.
I rarely meet people like him.
People whose convictions are so firm yet somehow never lose their wisdom. He speaks with an unwavering certainty, but not without reflection. It’s an unusual balance, strength without noise, confidence without arrogance, even when traces of selfishness linger beneath the surface.
Strangely enough, that selfishness never becomes the first thing people notice.
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It is almost unfair how naturally he commands attention, not by asking for it, but simply by existing as himself. There is an undeniable gravity about him, pulling people closer while revealing almost nothing in return.
And maybe that’s why I admire him so much.
Not because he is easy to love or easy to understand, but because he isn’t.
He remains just beyond my reach, like a constellation that can guide you through the darkest nights but can never be held in your hands. The distance between admiration and possession has never felt so vast.
Sometimes I wonder if the real beauty of certain people lies precisely there, in their impossibility.
Mere is one of those people.
The kind you don’t try to own.
The kind you simply learn to admire from afar, knowing that some souls are meant to inspire longing rather than belonging.
