#feeling insecure

it’s a strange thing to mourn.

to mourn a face that’s still alive.

every time i look in the mirror, i don’t just see my reflection.

i see reasons.

reasons why nobody has ever stayed.

reasons why nobody has ever chosen me.

reasons why love feels like something that happens to prettier people.

i’ve tried dating apps before.

i’ve talked to strangers.

i’ve stayed up until three in the morning getting to know someone i’ve never met.

and for a little while, i let myself believe.

maybe this could become something.

maybe they’ll like me.

until they ask,

“when can we meet?”

that’s when the excitement turns into fear.

because suddenly i’m no longer hiding behind my screen.

i’m no longer the perfectly angled selfie.

the carefully chosen lighting.

the picture i stared at for thirty minutes before deciding,

“yeah… i look okay here.”

what if that’s not me?

or at least…

what if that’s not who they see?

maybe i found my best angle.

maybe the lighting did most of the work.

maybe the filter softened everything i hate about myself.

maybe they’ll look at me in person and think,

“oh…”

not because i’m different.

but because i’m disappointing.

and i don’t think i could survive watching someone’s expectations disappear right in front of me.

so i leave.

i stop replying.

i make excuses.

i disappear before they get the chance to.

because rejection hurts less when i reject myself first.

i’ve already accepted it.

no one will ever love me.

or maybe…

that’s just what i’ve been telling myself for so long that it feels like the truth.

i don’t know.

sometimes i look around and wonder if people even fall in love anymore.

or if they just fall in love with appearances.

this generation feels obsessed with being seen.

relationships become posts.

couples become aesthetics.

partners become proof.

proof that you’re attractive enough to “pull” someone everyone else wants.

it’s almost like people don’t say,

“look how much i love this person.”

they say,

“look who i managed to get.”

as if an attractive partner is some kind of trophy.

a bragging right.

an achievement.

something to show off.

and i know that’s not every relationship.

but sometimes it feels like the loudest ones are.

which makes me wonder…

if i don’t fit society’s idea of beautiful…

who would ever be proud to love me?

would anyone ever look at me with the same pride other people have for their partners?

would anyone ever introduce me without secretly wishing i looked different?

would anyone ever post me because they genuinely adore me…

not because i make their life look prettier?

and then i catch myself thinking that way.

and i stop.

because…

is that what i actually want?

do i want to be someone’s trophy?

their decoration?

their accessory?

am i a bird they’re showing off because my feathers are pretty?

is that really what i’m asking for?

or have i confused being loved with being displayed?

maybe i don’t want to be admired by strangers.

maybe i just want one person to look at me the way i’ve never been able to look at myself.

with softness.

with patience.

with certainty.

maybe i don’t want someone who’s proud because i’m attractive.

maybe i want someone who’s proud because i’m me.

someone who learns every insecurity i’ve buried beneath jokes and self-deprecation…

and stays anyway.

someone who doesn’t love me despite my flaws.

someone who simply loves me, and my flaws stop being a list of reasons i’m unworthy.

because maybe that’s what i’ve been searching for this whole time.

not validation.

not attention.

not admiration.

just proof that i don’t have to earn love by looking perfect.

i don’t know if that person exists.

i don’t know if they’ll ever find me.

i don’t even know if i’ll believe them if they do.

all i know is this—

i’m tired.

tired of measuring my worth against mirrors.

tired of believing beauty is the price of admission into love.

tired of thinking i have to apologize for the face i was born with.

sometimes i wonder if anyone will ever love me.

sometimes i wonder if anyone will ever be proud to call me theirs.

sometimes i wonder if i’ll ever stop asking those questions.

but beneath all of those doubts…

beneath every insecurity…

beneath every picture i’ve almost deleted…

there’s still one quiet truth i can’t seem to let go of.

i want to be loved.

not because i’m beautiful.

not because i make someone else’s life look prettier.

not because i’m someone worth showing off.

just because i’m me.

and maybe…

maybe that’s what i’ve been asking for all along.