I met him where the pavement ends,
Where the radios go quiet,
Down in Savannah, Spanish moss
Was hanging low and timeless.
By the river, near the squares,
Where the old streets hum and heal,
I asked him if it bothered him
Being known by none for real.
You don’t need to be understood to be real,
You don’t need permission to feel what you feel,
Let ’em guess, let ’em doubt, let ’em miss what they see,
You’re not less just because they can’t read you completely.
You don’t need their truth to seal the deal—
You don’t need to be understood to be real.
I said, “They tell my story wrong,
Like they know me better,”
He said, “Truth doesn’t crack or bend
From someone else’s weather.”
“Some hearts only hear echoes
Of the fears they hold inside,
But a name spoken crookedly
Still belongs to you,” he replied.
You don’t need to be understood to be real,
You don’t need their language to say what you feel,
Let ’em talk, let ’em turn every yes into no,
You’re not lost just because they don’t follow your road.
You don’t need their map to know what you feel
You don’t need to be understood to be real.
Then he turned toward the evening bells,
Said, “I won’t be remembered,”
“But the ones who learned to trust themselves
Were never lost—just quieter.”
I watched him fade into the night,
Cobblestones glistening wet,
And I carried what he gave to me
Like a truth I’d always had.
You don’t need to be understood to be real,
You don’t owe an explanation for the way that you heal,
Let ’em frame you in pieces, let ’em miss who you are,
You’re still whole in the dark, you’re still you where you stand.
You don’t need their applause to make it feel real
You don’t need to be understood…
No, you don’t need to be understood
To be real.
Kaimanguy
