You confuse people. That’s your aura working.

You confuse people. Always have. It’s not intentional. Just your nature. You walk in with silence first. Your energy speaks before you do. It lingers. Heavy. Hard to name. People feel it. They don’t understand. They try to read your face. They search for meaning and labels. But you don’t fit clean lines. You shift, hold back, pull away. Not from cruelty. From protection instead. You’ve learned not all deserve access.

You’re here. Then suddenly, you’re gone. Emotionally or physically. You disappear quietly. It’s not drama. It’s space-making. You retreat to feel yourself again. Connection is intense. Sometimes too much. You crave depth. Not surface talk. You need silence inside relationships too. When people get close, it stings. Not because of them—because of you. Being seen makes you feel erased. So you vanish before becoming invisible.

Your mystery lives in quiet choices. You don’t force people to stay. You don’t chase understanding. You wait. You watch. You protect what’s sacred. You don’t explain your depth. You let others drown or swim. You aren’t here to perform emotion. You’re here to feel, fully, alone if needed. Most don’t get that far. They want warmth, without the fire. But your warmth comes with ashes. And that truth scares them.

You’ve known loss. Not always loud loss. Sometimes soft. Sometimes unseen. But always real. It changed you. You shed layers, often alone. And rose quieter than before. You don’t share every wound. You carry them like old letters. Tucked deep. Faded but remembered. Your pain made space for strength. Quiet strength. The kind that doesn’t show off. Just exists. Just survives.

You confuse people because you’re real. Real things feel strange today. You can’t be summed up easily. You don’t shrink to fit moods. You are depth, silence, fire, stillness. You are the pause in the noise. The glance that lingers too long. The soul that doesn’t flinch. You were never meant to be simple. You were made to be felt.