Untouchable Things

Welcome. If you’ve found your way here, I imagine you’re curious — and so am I.
About people. About love. About meaning.

For me, love has always felt like a distant, untouchable thing — a dream meant for dreaming, not for achieving. I’ve admired others from afar, carried silent affections that never asked to be returned. When someone directs that gaze toward me, it doesn’t feel flattering — it feels like exposure.

Like a rabbit in an open field, unsure where to run.

Vulnerable.

So I turned to writing when the emotions became too much to hold. Humans are strange, beautiful creatures — I’ve always wondered what makes them tick, why they ache, why they act the way they do. In my writing, I explore these questions, along with others that haunt the edges of existence: What happens after death? Does life have meaning? Or are we simply navigating a maze of choices we never truly made?

I often return to spirituality — not as an answer, but as a fragile kind of hope. Because without it, I think living becomes a quiet kind of suffering.

I don’t see love as false. I see it as sacred. But sacred things are often admired from behind glass — not because we don’t want to touch them, but because we’re not sure they’d survive if we did.