There’s an ache that comes from loving someone who never truly chooses you, the kind of love that keeps you waiting, wondering, holding on to scraps of affection that come only when you reach out first.
It’s like begging for something that should be given freely, something you wish you could pull out of them, if only they’d let you in.
You spend nights trying to find where their heart is, combing through every word, every touch, hoping you’ll find some hidden sign that they’re just scared, that they feel it too.
But the more you try, the more you feel yourself unraveling.
Each piece you give to make them stay is a piece you lose of yourself, until you’re left with fragments of who you were before you loved them.
They’re bad for you, and you know it.
They leave you with good nights that feel like quiet goodbyes, moments that burn bright and then fade, leaving you questioning if it was ever real.
You lie awake at night wondering if all these “good nights” are just goodbyes in disguise—if each time they leave, it’s one more silent promise that they’ll never fully stay.
And then, there’s the haunting thought that when they’re with you, they’re thinking of someone else. That every kiss, every smile, is shadowed by a memory that doesn’t belong to you.
You wonder if you’re only filling a space that was meant for someone they’ll never have again. The idea rips through you, but you stay, hoping that maybe one day they’ll see you, really see you, instead of the ghost they’re holding onto.
The hardest part? You know all of this, every painful truth, but you’re already theirs. Somehow, somewhere along the way, you gave yourself to them, fully and completely, even though they’re only halfway here.
You’ve bound yourself to someone who doesn’t have the courage to love you the way you deserve. You wish you could leave, wish you could let them go.
But they’ve already taken so much of you that there’s barely enough left to pull yourself away.
