I used to find comfort in stories on screens, in characters that felt more real than most people. I’d replay scenes just to feel something again, to remember what it’s like to be moved, to be understood. Now I watch in silence. Eyes open, heart closed. Nothing stirs. The lines don’t hit like they used to. The warmth is gone. It’s all just noise now. And I wonder why— Is it because all the comfort I want is you? Because no movie, no script, has ever made me feel the way you did.