I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I’ve filled pages with these thoughts, scrawled my pain into a hundred drafts, poured my heart into words that feel endless, yet I still don’t have an answer. I want to know. I need to know — what is so wrong with me?
I hate being a hopeless romantic. I hate feeling so soft, so exposed. We crave what we are deprived of, don’t we? Or maybe what we desire most is what we can never seem to have. I wish I could be harsh, untouchable. I wish my skin was thicker. I want to be cold, but my body insists on staying warm, and it aches.
“Does my touch burn you?”
“Was I only enough for you because it was convenient?”
“Did it scare you away?”
To anyone seeking a fling or fleeting romance, please, for everything I’m worth, stay away from soft hearts. We don’t know how to love halfway. We love fast, we love full, and we love recklessly. But we’re fragile, and we break easily.
If you’re still figuring out what you want, take all the time you need. Explore, question, and grow into who you’re meant to be. But please, don’t drag others into your uncertainty. Don’t hurt people in the process.
Soft hearts aren’t playgrounds for indecision. They’re not meant to be tested, discarded, or left in the aftermath of your self-discovery. If you’re unsure, say so. If you’re not ready, don’t pretend to be. Honour their vulnerability by being honest with your own.
It’s okay to not have it all figured out. What’s not okay is breaking someone else while you try to piece yourself together.
I hate being the kind of person who falls too easily, knowing full well how much I’ve endured, only to get hurt by someone who sees love as a fleeting entertainment.
Did you have fun?
Why can’t I be the kind of person who lives in the moment, who enjoys the now without dreading the inevitable? My heart wasn’t built for that. It’s not engineered to love in pieces or to hold itself back. I want, so badly, for someone to understand that.
I’ve tried. I promise, I’ve tried to be heartless. But I can’t.
People tell me how beautiful it is to have a heart so full of love, as if it’s a blessing. But all I see is a burden — a heavy, fragile thing that feels too much, too often.
My heart longs for permanence in a world that thrives on impermanence. It beats too loudly, too vulnerably, and I wish I could quiet it, shield it, harden it. But no matter how much I try, it keeps loving, even when it’s not enough.
