I remind myself daily: craving connection doesn’t mean I’m incomplete. My heart doesn’t have a hole to fill, but it does have room—room for laughter that echoes late into the night, for shared playlists and whispered hopes.
I find peace in knowing my desire isn’t a weakness. Rather, it’s a guiding star. It points me toward the people I haven’t met yet, the conversations I haven’t had, the vulnerability I haven’t dared to hold.
I dream of deep conversations that stretch past midnight, of shoulders to lean on when storms roll in, of laughter so heartfelt it brings tears. I know that isn’t something I’ll find in a single text or a random swipe—it’s woven slowly, deliberately, through presence and patience.
And even as I wait, I carry the knowledge that I am already whole. This yearning is simply proof that I’m alive—capable of feeling deeply, of loving fully, of believing that the right people will find their way to me.
I never understood people who don’t crave this—how they don’t feel that gentle ache, that quiet longing pumping through their bodies. This generation is mind-boggling to me: how they lack depth and the desire to love someone wholeheartedly. They’re fine with one-night stands and two-week situationships. Everyone seems terrified of love, marriage, intimacy. Completely understandable, though—the selection of partners out there can be terrible. But what happened? Has social media, the Internet, and all the outside influences really changed society this badly? We all know the answer: yes. It’s just sad. We are social creatures; our need for connection is rooted deep within us as a species, not just as individuals. I wonder why we replaced those deep connections that previous generations spoke so highly of with the shallow, superficial interactions we settle for now.
We’re also expected to be okay with this new-age definition of “connection.” And it’s okay if you’re not. It’s okay if you want more; it’s all right if you’re not built for casual sex, Hinge, and sharing partners. You don’t have to pretend that you are. It’s okay to crave depth—love, genuine intimacy, a real bond; to yearn, long, and pray for it. It doesn’t make you desperate, any less whole, or something to feel ashamed of.
I personally sometimes wish I were built for what’s out there. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this want—that I could be casual and fun and fit in. But I’ve said it once; I’ll say it again: I love depth, and nothing will change that. I’m not made for surface-level, superficial relationships.
I’m not going to lie; there are days when the pull of what I don’t have yet is, I don’t know, sad, achy. It’s been on my mind a lot: craving a connection. On those days, I let myself feel that ache without shaming it away. I journal the feeling, and I breathe into it. I used to think I needed to hurry love along, as if it were a deadline. Now I see that rushing can break the fragile threads of trust and intimacy. So I give relationships the space they need to unfold—just steady light, steady curiosity, and the willingness to stay present even when the outcome is uncertain.
I’ve learned: intimacy, trust, real connection—they don’t sprint. They unfurl, slowly and softly, on their own timetable. So I give myself permission to stop watching the clock. Permission to stop feeling bad for not fitting in with what’s going on around me. Give yourself permission, too.
And so I sit here—heart open, clock forgotten—learning to welcome the space between longing and arrival. Each pause is a promise: a moment to gather courage, to plant seeds of vulnerability, to tend the connections that matter most.
If you’re feeling that gentle ache too, know it’s not a void to fear but a compass to follow. Trust its pull. Keep reaching out, keep leaning in, and most of all, keep believing that when the time is right, what you’re seeking will find you—and you’ll be ready to receive it.
Because in the end, connection isn’t something we chase. It’s something we grow, together.
