When You Know, You Know

People say “when you know, you know,” but no one ever talks about what it’s like when you don’t.

All anyone’s ever shown me is uncertainty—second-guessing, almosts, maybes that never land. I once thought I knew. Then I realized I didn’t. If knowing is real, I guess I’m still waiting for it—waiting for something that doesn’t feel forced, something I don’t have to talk myself into. Until then, all I know is this feeling of not knowing. Maybe that means I haven’t met the moment yet. Maybe it just means I’m still here—still open, still waiting.