I thought it was love.
The way I couldn't stop thinking about them.
The way my mood depended on how they treated me.
The way silence from them
felt louder than anything else in my life.
When they were kind,
everything felt right again.
When they pulled again,
I felt like I was losing something I couldn't explain.
So I held on tighter.
I tired harder.
I became more understanding,
more patient,
more forgiving.
Because I thought
that was what love was supposed to look like.
But love…
isn't supposed to feel like anxiety.
It isn't supposed to feel like waiting,
guessing,
or slowly losing yourself
just to be chosen.
What I didn't realize then
was this —
I wasn't holding on to love.
I was holding on
because I was afraid
of being alone.
And that changes everything.