I’m May, and I spend weekends digging through dusty crates for vinyl that still holds someone else’s heartbeat in its grooves. I dance barefoot in summer storms because feeling rain on my skin is better than staying dry. My camera hunts shadows in empty train stations, stealing moments where light lingers longest. I dive deep into data during the day, then run through wild fields until my lungs beg for mercy. I bake sourdough at midnight and name every loaf after a star I love. I climb trees just to read poetry where no one else can hear. I build delicate cities from matchsticks only to light them and watch beauty rise from ashes. I collect smells in a little notebook — old books, wet earth, my grandmother’s lavender. I play chess with strangers in parks and gift them victories for their smiles. My windowsill herbs get gentle morning whispers. Every hobby keeps the restless spark in me alive and glowing

I’m May, and I’ve learned that happiness isn’t found in answers but in the bravery to keep asking harder questions together. Vulnerability is my sacred ground — I’ve felt closer to someone in one hour of honest silence than in years of careful words. I’m not scared of depth; I’m exhausted by shallow pretending. I crave love where “I’m breaking” is met with “stay, let me see the pieces.” The people who unsettle us most often reflect the parts of ourselves we haven’t welcomed yet. I dream of connections that hold space for contradictions without rushing to fix them, where flaws become doorways instead of apologies. True intimacy isn’t total knowledge — it’s choosing to remain when mystery stays. Let’s build something tender, messy, and deeply human: a love that thrives in the unfinished, breathes in the pauses, and feels infinite even in silence.

I’m May— the one who starts the day with bergamot tea steaming in my favorite mug and ends it with vinyl softly spinning in the dark. I chase sunsets from rooftops, devour tacos in the pouring rain, and gather fleeting stories from strangers like seashells. I speak three languages fluently and curse creatively in a few more. My laugh fills rooms, my silence holds worlds, and I still remember exactly how the light fell across your face the day we met. I’m drawn to unfinished hearts, to people who carry their questions like lanterns. Perfection leaves me cold; raw, unfiltered presence sets me on fire. I live for those 3 a.m. truths, for pauses that say more than words ever could. If you can sit beside me in comfortable quiet and feel everything anyway, we’re already speaking the same language. I don’t need someone to complete me — I want someone to beautifully complicate me. Let’s create moments too vivid for any filter.

I’m May, endlessly curious about the thin line where science and ancient myths blur into one. I read neuroscience until the early hours, then weep over Greek tragedies as the sun rises. Black holes feel like metaphors for the pull of unspoken feelings. I study why we hide truths from those we love most and how each language reshapes the same world into something entirely new. Quantum entanglement seems less impossible than some connections I’ve known. I adore films that refuse easy answers and music that makes falling feel like flying. I follow every rocket launch with my heart in my throat. I’m exploring how shared silence can be more intimate than touch. Ask me about the Fermi paradox, consciousness uploading, or why dreams speak in symbols — I’ll talk with you until the sky turns pale. Curiosity is my favorite kind of forever.