She Wants, She Fears, She Feels

She read this somewhere:“She’s not scared of love itself.She’s scared of the kind of love that pretends.She’s scared of the kind of love that feels warm at first,but leaves you freezing, abandoned, broken at the end.She’s scared of being treated like something to win, not someone to cherish.She’s scared of falling for words that sound real, but mean nothing at all.” And it stayed with her,because it feels like her own truth. This everything she feels as meant for her.She hates her emotions.She hates feeling too much, too fast, too deeply.She hates carrying one emotionand then another crashing into her chest,until her mind spirals and trembles,overthinking everything,constantly waiting, constantly needing reassurancethat never comes when she needs it. When she asks herself,“Should I experience this, or should I avoid it?”When she whispers,“Should I open my heart, or guard it from hurt?”she remembers she has always done her bestto avoid the hurt. She trained herself to feel numb.To act unbothered.To hide the shaking inside her chest.Her friends say, “You act like nothing affects you,”but that’s the armor she learned to wear.Because she doesn’t want the pain.She doesn’t want to drownin a heartbreak she doesn’t think she will survive. She knows the sting of unanswered messages.She knows the ache of giving more than she receives.She knows the danger of settling for halfwhen her heart deserves everything. She fears being led onby someone who loves another.She fears being kept in the shadowsby someone unsure of her.She fears loving someonewho only loves her back on certain days. And still…she wants love.She wants the kind that softens the world.The kind that stays.But every time it comes close,it slips through her fingersalmost hers, then gone. She wants to be able to double-text.She wants to share things without trembling.She wants to speak without fearthat she is “too much”for someone giving too little. Some nights, her longing becomes sharp and strange.She wants to cut his heart openjust to know what he feels.She wants to hear his every heartbeat,to understand the parts of him he hides.She wants a love straight from the dramaintense, consuming, impossible to ignore.She wants to stop wanting.But she can’t stop wanting. She doesn’t know how to place her weightwhen she talks to him.Not too soft, not too heavyalways balancing her heart like glass. She hates the momentswhen she sends him a messageand silence answers first.Every late reply bruises her a little deeper. And she thinks:If you want to let her go… then let her go. Let her go cleanly.Let her go honestly.It will hurt her at first,but she would rather suffer truththan be held in pieces. Yet in the quietest cave of her heart,a different fear whispers: What if he comes back one day?What if this ache is just a waiting roomfor something real?When he returns…will she still be there waiting? She doesn’t want to drown in itbecause she refuses to lose herselfto the kind of heartbeatthat once suffocated her. She doesn’t want him to think she’s insane,or obsessed,or lost inside her own longing.She doesn’t want to feel this way…but she feels it anyway. She keeps asking:Should she cut herself off,or should she stay?That question sits heavy in her chest,refusing to leave her alone. And in the darkest corner of her thoughts: What if he’s not for me?What if he’s just playing?What if this will break me again? She feels hopeless sometimesnot because she lacks strength,but because she loves with a heartthat bruises too easily. And yet…if he calls,if he texts,if he shows even a little softnessher heart runs back to himlike it doesn’t know better. It’s not that he’s trying to kill hernot literallybut the way he pulls her closethen pushes her away,the way he warms herand freezes her again… it feels like he is slowly killingthe softest pieces of her. She knows this hurt.She knows this pattern.She knows the danger of loving someonewho holds her heart carelessly. And still,she stands in the middle of it,torn between leaving to save herselfand staying because hopeis a stubborn, stubborn thing.

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