There are ways of being lonely

that have nothing to do

with an empty room.

 
I learnt this

beside you.

Your shoulder was close enough

for my head to rest on,

but your heart was so far away

to hear my silent whispers

I began to notice

the little things.

How your replies

could take a whole afternoon

to cross the distance

between us.

I was always checking

the sky.

Would today be warm?

Would you reach for me?

Would I have to ask?

I hated that I had begun

to count affection

like coins on a table.

You were there.

That was what made it difficult.

your shoes beside the door,

your hand sometimes

finding mine in sleep—

and still,

there were rooms inside me

you never entered.

I kept telling myself

that love had seasons,

that people were not always

good at saying what they felt,

that patience was a virtue.

So I became patient.

Then more patient.

Then almost invisible.

There is a peculiar sadness

in becoming fluent

in making excuses

for someone you love.

You begin protecting them

from the truth

of what they are doing to you.

You never completely

withdrew.

You gave me enough

to keep hoping,

never enough

to feel held.

And hope can be

a beautiful thing,

until you discover

you have been using it

to postpone grief.

But love,

I learnt slowly,

cannot be the only person

doing the work.

There must be somewhere

for effort to meet effort.

Somewhere

for tenderness to return

from the journey.

Eventually,

I stopped measuring

the distance between us.

I measured

the distance between

who I had become

and who I was

before I started begging

to feel chosen.

That was the distance

I could no longer cross.

And there came a morning

when I understood

that being loved

and feeling loved

are not always

the same country.

And I had been living

too long

without a passport

to the second one.

 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Folawe Mustapha lives at the intersection of human empathy and creative resilience. As a dedicated welfare advisor and support worker, she spent years protecting the dignity, safety, and independence of those navigating complex life challenges.

As a spoken-word artist, she translated that deep understanding of human vulnerability into powerful performances across Nigeria and the UK.