There’s a quiet ache that grows when you realize you’ve never been anyone’s first choice. It builds in the silences, in the spaces between their absence and their occasional return. Always there when it’s convenient for them—never when you need them most. They tell me not to change, to stay as I am, yet here I am—alone, wondering why “as I am” is never enough to make them stay.
I’m scared now. Scared to let anyone close enough to touch the fragile edges of my heart. It’s not because I don’t want connection—I crave it more than anything. But every time I open myself up, they leave. And so I’ve learned not to ask “if” they’ll leave; the question is always “when.”
I find myself longing for something simple, yet profound. A love where I don’t have to question every text, every call, every gesture. Am I too much? Am I reaching too far? Why does caring feel like pushing people away? I want to feel safe, wrapped in certainty that I’m wanted, that I’m chosen. Not tolerated. Not hidden. Chosen.
I want someone who stands beside me, unashamed, proud to love me. Someone who doesn’t keep me at a distance, like a secret too fragile to be revealed. I can’t settle for crumbs anymore. It has to be all or nothing—I owe my heart that much.
So I protect myself now. Guarding the bruised, tender parts of me like a fortress. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hoping; it just means I’ve stopped giving away pieces of myself to those who don’t deserve them.
I want to be someone’s first choice. Nothing less. And until then, I’ll choose to protect my heart.
Perfect but Different 
Leave a comment