I don’t want the pressures and expectations of what dating looks like these days.

Especially when just getting to know someone can feel like a damn race to the finish line of how much of yourself you’re willing to give and how soon you’re willing to give it all away.

They strive for immediate gratification filled with empty sentiments from a stranger, as though it somehow proves dedication, assurance and a guarantee that you’re not wasting their time.

And if you show any sign of doubt while you’re attempting to process how you might be feeling in regards to another,

as you naturally should,

you’re labeled as hesitant and unwilling to bend into their agenda. Which often times leads into them leaving in search of someone who doesn’t think as much — who will blindly leap into the fleeting unknown and call it love.

Clinging to those attention driven moments of what is needed to feel wanted and accepted by another human being.

We’re quick to lay down, strip our layers, hand over our hearts and toss a relationship status up before they have the time to remember the color of our eyes or what it means to truly hold us when the world feels as though it’s falling apart.

And just as dating is a process where you have to ride the wave, so is healing from heartbreak where allowing yourself to embrace even those darkest of ghostly thoughts is necessary.

Yet, we push it aside and numb the loneliness instead. Too afraid to be patient with ourselves. Too stubborn to care if the next object of affection will deepen our scars and create untamed storms inside of our minds.

Emotional inflictions that last much longer than the few weeks they spent creating them.

When does the pattern end?

When your trust and confidence is completely shattered?

When empty compliments, promises and words of worth fade into broken memories heard too many times you can no longer decipher what’s real anymore?

When your heart has completely hardened, prohibiting you from experiencing anything beautiful at the hands of someone who might have touched it delicately?

I’ve met my fair share of broken people. Those who pushed and pushed until they had nothing left to give.

It’s not romantic. It’s tragic.

It’s not easily reversed or cured overnight.

It’s lonely. It’s frustrating and exhausting.

It’s much like depression, where you never asked for it and you can’t explain it. But it eats away at you and steals your joy time and time again. Never knowing when things will get better or if they ever will. It’s defeating.

It’s hopelessness and beating yourself up for not being /normal/ like those who carelessly give it all.

So forgive me if I pause.

If I overthink and over analyze my every step, ensuring that I’m confident in taking the next leap towards you. It’s not because I don’t want to.

It’s because I know it takes more than a week to grow a bond worth falling into.

It’s because I yearn for more than what can be discovered under the intimate sheets of your bed. It’s because I want to know that my “hesitations” won’t easily scare you away into the arms of a man who’s readily available and reckless.

It’s because I refuse to be broken and choose to maintain a whole heart that’s ready to give to someone that’s not afraid to earn it.

I deserve that. You deserve that.

𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦.

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘺. 𝘖𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩. 𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦? 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘕𝘰, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴.

𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.