I was surfing the internet, stumbling on little things like gestures, words and tenderness I know they say things you see on the Internet are 90% fake,
but I know that this is the kind of love I wished you knew how to give me without being told.
Things that weren't grand or impossible, but simple ways of saying, "I see you, I choose you, I cherish you."
I downloaded them.
Not because I wanted to force you,
but because a small part of me hoped that maybe,
just maybe, if you saw what love could look like,
you'd understand what my heart had been asking for all along.
But when it was time to send them to you,
my fingers froze.
My courage evaporated.
And suddenly I couldn't hit "send."
Was I scared?
Maybe.
Scared that the little affection you give now
would disappear the moment you felt expected to love me right.
Scared you'd see my effort
and somehow become even more distant.
Or maybe it was deeper than fear,
maybe I wanted you to learn on your own.
To choose to love me the way I needed,
not because I taught you,
not because I begged,
not because I sent you instructions like a manual,
but because something inside you whispered,
"She deserves this."
Because if I have to teach you how to love me,
then what we have stops feeling like love.
It becomes training, effort, obligation.
A script instead of sincerity.
And if you don't learn it on your own,
then I already know the truth I don't want to say aloud:
I didn't lose you.
I never really had you.
Because you won't learn love from me…
you'll only learn love for the one you truly want.
And that thought,
that silent and painful truth,
is why I couldn't send it.