Satellite Loves

They arrive. They draw near like curious moons, orbiting my tide, drinking the reflection of my light without daring to enter the whole night that lives within me. They gaze at me from the shore, fascinated by the immensity, but afraid of that instant when the water ceases to be scenery and becomes depth. They say they love me. But they love fragments: the laughter that lights them up, the skin that calls them, the word that lays them bare, the soul that lifts them. They love the light they find in me, but are not always willing to know the shadow that sustains it. They forget that I am also storm, silence, underground currents, tides that change without asking permission. And so they remain, circling me, drawn by my gravity, close enough to feel my warmth, far enough away not to be shipwrecked. They do not touch bottom. They do not drop anchor. They do not surrender to the mystery of ceasing to be spectators. And no, I do not beg for love. I have never held out empty hands to gather the crumbs of a presence, nor mistaken an orbit for an encounter, nor fascination for surrender. I know my ocean cannot be drunk in sips, that you cannot know the sea by barely wetting your feet, that there are depths that reveal themselves only to those who dare to descend without seeking to master them. I do not want moons surrounding me or stars feeding on my light while keeping their distance intact. I want someone who comes close without presuming to save me, who does not mistake my intensity for danger or my freedom for an absence of love. Someone who understands that inhabiting an ocean does not mean possessing it, but learning its languages, respecting its currents, recognizing its silences and staying when the water is no longer calm. Because my depth is not a test, nor my storm a threat. They too are part of my beauty, of that untamed nature I have no intention of betraying to make myself easier to love. And in the meantime, I will go on being the sea. With my tides and my shipwrecks, my clear waters and my nameless abysses. With the moon reflected on my skin and the night beating in my belly. I will not wait for someone who dares to look at me, but for someone who, after gazing at me, understands that love does not happen around someone, but in a true encounter with everything that person is. And if that person ever arrives, they will not need to promise me infinity. It will be enough for them to stop orbiting, come close without armor and sit with me facing the sea. Let them not come to illuminate me: I already know my light. Let them not come to tame me: I have learned to navigate my own waters. Let them come, simply, with the courage of someone seeking not a place to take refuge, but a world to know. And then I will know they have not come to circle my life, but to meet me at the center of their own. Because I was not born to be the satellite of any love, or to turn my ocean into a shore where others rest before leaving again. I was born to be the sea. And whoever wants to love me will have to understand that immensity is not something to gaze at from afar, it is encountered, respected and, if the soul so chooses, sailed by two.