you want to tell them what’s wrong, but isn’t that just too much? you don’t want to seem needy. you don’t want to ask for too much. the thing is, you’ve learned how to read the spaces between words—how someone’s tone flattens, the shift in the way they look at you. you can feel the weight of a text that doesn’t come. you’ve lived this before.
don’t panic, don’t panic. you want to write: hey, are we okay? but doesn’t that just prove that you’re too much? you’re too clingy, too desperate. shouldn’t love feel steady? effortless? isn’t this exactly what ruins it every time?
but then: if it’s real, shouldn’t you be able to ask? shouldn’t they want to reassure you? wouldn’t someone who loves you want to say it’s okay, i’m here?
and yet, the little things pile up. they don’t laugh as much as they used to. their texts feel colder, shorter, more obligatory than excited. they stop bringing you into their world the way they used to. it’s just a little distance, you tell yourself. it’s fine. it’s fine. it’s fine.
except it’s not. you know the exact moment people start pulling away. it’s like your body keeps score, wired to anticipate abandonment. your stomach twists, your chest tightens, and suddenly you’re scrambling again. begging to be noticed, chosen, kept.
what a fucking joke. you’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on not needing anyone to fill your empty spaces, but here you are—panicked, waiting by your phone, second-guessing every word you’ve said. you’ve learned how to live alone, but god, you just want to be someone’s. you want someone to look at you and stay.
but here you are again, barking for scraps of love like a dog left out in the rain. like they’re the only shelter you’ve ever known. you wish you could be enough, just once. you wish you could be someone worth holding on to.
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
