Love Letter to a Mind That Refuses to Be Tamed
I have never met another quite like her.
She does not walk in straight lines.
She leaps.
She spirals.
She arrives at answers
without ever knocking on the door of logic.
She talks while I am trying to sleep.
Paints pictures while I am trying to focus.
Builds bridges out of thin air
when the map says there is no way forward.
Sometimes
I am in awe of her.
The way she solves what doesn't exist yet.
The way she finds beauty in chaos.
The way she creates entire worlds
between one thought and the next.
And sometimes
I am so tired of chasing her.
Because connection feels harder
when your mind refuses to slow down.
Because discipline feels like a language
she never learned to speak.
Because execution lags behind imagination
and I am left fighting myself
just to begin.
She does not care for the status quo.
She does not bow to timelines.
She does not mold herself
into neat and quiet shapes.
She is eccentric.
Uncentered.
Wild in her own gravity.
ADHD is her fire.
Autism is her rhythm.
And I live in the space between
gratitude and grief.
Grateful
for the lanes I've carved
that no one else could see.
Grateful
for the visions I hold
that would not exist
without her imbalance.
And grieving
the ease I never had.
The simplicity of focus.
The straight road
other minds were given.
We are always in tug-of-war.
Push and pull.
Love and frustration.
Creation and collapse.
Yet still…
this dance is ours.
Ridiculously challenging.
Strangely beautiful.
A choreography of chaos and meaning
that only we know how to perform.
So I hold her
even when she exhausts me.
I thank her
even when she betrays me.
I learn to love her
not despite her difference
but because of it.
Because without her,
I would not be here,
standing in a lane I built myself,
with a mind that refuses to be ordinary,
and a heart still trying
to make peace with brilliance.
