Silvery

It will makes you questioning everything, your choices, your instincts, even your memories.

The hard part is not just fear, but the realization that the relationship you lived in was never real to begin with.

What was safe yesterday doesn't feel safe today

I want you. I feel it in the pauses between your messages in the way I lean toward what keeps stepping back.

When you go quiet, my body fills the silence for you. I search for meaning where you’re asking for space. I tell myself not to worry and I worry anyway.

I don’t doubt that you care. I doubt whether I’m safe inside your distance. When I reach for reassurance, it’s not to control you it’s to steady myself.

But every question seems to make you retreat, and I learn how to ask smaller, or not at all.

You move slowly.

I move toward.

Your calm feels like a closed door when all I’m asking for is a window. When you hesitate to name us, my chest tightens. Not because I need promises but because the waiting feels endless.

I try to be patient.

I try to regulate.

I tell myself love shouldn’t need proof.

But I want something solid to rest on, and you offer air. I know my need can feel heavy. I see you pulling back, trying not to disappear.

And still the more you distance, the more I reach not to trap you, but to feel real again. I wish my longing didn’t sound like pressure. I wish your space didn’t feel like loss. Because wanting you and feeling secure with you still feel like two different things.

You want me. I can feel it in the way you lean forward, in the questions that come a little too soon, in how silence makes you restless.

I don’t doubt your care. I doubt my capacity to hold it. When you get close, I don’t panic loudly. I go quiet.

Your reaching makes my body ask for space, even when my heart hasn’t decided to leave.

You look for reassurance.

I look for air.

When you ask where we stand, my chest tightens. Not because I don’t feel something, but because naming it feels like a promise I’m not ready to keep. Your emotions arrive full and honest. Mine move slowly, careful not to wake old alarms.

I know my distance hurts you. I see you trying to stay calm, trying not to ask again and that hurts me too.

Because the more you reach, the more I pull back not to punish you, but to protect myself from a closeness. I don’t know how to survive. I wish I could meet you where you are without losing myself. I wish my silence didn’t sound like rejection.

They ask me, “Don’t you want someone?” And I nod. Yes. I want love, and I’ve wanted it loudly, with my whole nervous system leaning forward.

When someone gets close, my heart still races. I still feel the urge to check, to reach, to make sure we’re okay. But now I notice the surge before I obey it.

I pause.

I breathe.

I put my hand on my chest and remind myself I am here.

Silence still unsettles me, but I no longer chase it for answers. I tell myself that space is not a sentence, and time is not a rejection.

I want clarity

I always will.

But I’m learning that urgency isn’t the same as truth. That reassurance can come from inside me first. If something feels off, I ask once.

Clearly. Without spiraling into apology or fear. And if I need comfort, I offer some of it to myself.

I care deeply. That hasn’t changed. But I’m learning to keep my feet on the ground while my heart reaches. I don’t abandon myself in the waiting anymore. I don’t shrink to be chosen. I don’t rehearse endings to feel prepared.

I stay not clinging, not bracing, just present. I want connection and I’m learning that being chosen also means choosing myself in the quiet moments.

I want you and when you come closer, something in me tightens not because of you. But because closeness asks questions I don’t know how to answer yet.

You notice before I say anything. You soften your steps. You make room without stepping away. You tell me, “I’m here. We don’t have to rush this.”

I want that to feel like safety. Instead, it feels like being seen without my armor on. Because your steadiness leaves me no excuses. No chaos to point at. No distance to hide inside.

When I pull back, you don’t follow. When I hesitate, you don’t push. You stay open and still, fully yourself. And that’s when I understand something painful.

To stay, I would have to stay with my fear. With the parts of me that learned to survive, not to remain. With the risk of being known without a door already open behind me.

So I tell myself you deserve someone braver.

Someone whose body doesn’t confuse care with danger. I leave quietly. Not to hurt you. Not to punish either of us.

You don’t argue.

You don’t ask me to be different.

You let me go.

I'm still remember... I met you with my hands open. I didn’t rush your steps or pull you forward when you hesitated.

When you pulled away, I didn’t chase. I told myself love could be patient that steadiness might teach safety.

When you needed space, I gave it. Not as a test, not with silence sharpened into punishment, but with trust.

When you came close again, I let you in. Even when part of me braced for the fall. When things stopped making sense, I asked. I chose conversation over stories, hope over assumptions.

But slowly, something became clear.

No matter how softly I spoke, you still vanished when things mattered. No matter how careful I was with your fear, closeness still felt like something you had to escape.

So I adjusted.

I learned how to wait. How to need less. How to explain myself gently, so I wouldn’t scare you away.

And somewhere in all that understanding,

I disappeared.

One day I noticed. I was doing all the staying. All the holding. All the believing. I wasn’t being patient anymore. I was being alone with someone.

I can make space. But I can’t live inside it forever.

I can be kind. But I can’t become invisible.

I can regulate my heart, but I can’t build a relationship by myself.

So this isn’t anger. It’s not a slammed door or a lesson disguised as distance. It’s the quiet moment when you finally stop reaching and put your hands back around yourself.

They ask me, “Don’t you want someone?” And I smile, because, yes I do. I want the kind of love that feels like warmth, not urgency. The kind that stays.

When someone steps closer, fear still visits. It always has. But now I notice it instead of obeying it. I breathe through the tightness.

I stay.

I remind myself that closeness isn’t a loss of self, and uncertainty isn’t a warning sign. It’s just the space where trust is built. I don’t rush forward. I don’t run away. I let things grow at a pace my body can believe in.

When something feels heavy, I speak even when my voice shakes. When I need room, I ask without disappearing. I’ve learned that space doesn’t have to mean distance and care doesn’t have to mean sacrifice.

I can love deeply and still keep my feet on the ground. I don’t leave at the first hint of fear. I stay long enough to listen, long enough to see what’s true.

I want connection not the perfect kind, but the honest one. The kind that allows me to be seen without asking me to vanish.

So this time, I don’t leave.

They ask me, "Don't you want someone?" And I laugh, Because of course I do. I want love so bad it aches. I want to be held, to be seen, to be chosen, and to be loved.

But the second someone gets close, I flinch. I overthink, shut down, pull back. I find reasons to run, too soon, too intense, too good. I convince myself that I leave them for good reason that they just want to leave too, so I leave first. Then I sit alone, wondering why I keep doing this? I say I want connection, I want relationship, but I build walls like I'm under attack.

It's not that I don't want love. I'm just so scared of being known. So I keep breaking my own heart before anyone else gets the chance.

What if this time I don't leave?

What if this time I just let you be

Laughing and exicited too much make me so afraid that i can't handle when emotion hits.

Then you came along, and suddenly I felt something real again.

And honestly, that scared me.

know it might've come off as too much, and I'm sorry if it did.

I didn't want to put pressure on you. I just got caught up in what it felt like to actually care again...

GIVE, but don't expect

CARE, but don't lose yourself

LISTEN, but don't judge

HELP, but don't get used

LOVE, but don't depend

GO SLOW, but never stop

CHASE GROWTH, but don't forget to breathe

Dealing with failure is a tricky business

I'm scared to love like you do

The only way I know how to

I'm scared to love like you do

'Cause I don't wanna lose him too

No, I don't wanna love like you do

There's no ownership over anything in this life...