i want to be included so bad. i want to be chosen. not casually. not “oh yeah you can come if you want.” no. i want to be the person someone thinks of first. i want to be the name people text when they’re putting a group together. i want to be missed when i’m not there. i want someone to say “where’s ___?” and sound a little sad about it.

but also? if you try to get too close to me without a signed emotional contract, i will flinch like you just swung a sword at me. i will back away, mentally scan you for threat levels, and assign you a vague social label like “acquaintance” so that if you hurt me later i can say “it’s fine we weren’t even that close.” i crave closeness and also emotionally bench anyone who tries to get close. i am a friend collector with trust issues. i hoard love and ration vulnerability like i’m preparing for the apocalypse.

and don’t even get me started on object permanence. if you’re not actively talking to me or standing within 10 feet of me, i will literally forget you exist. like my brain closes the tab. you’re not even in the recently opened section. it’s not personal—it’s just that i am running on 2 brain cells, 6 existential crises, and no working short-term memory. BUT!!! the moment i remember you again i’ll be like “wow they don’t even talk to me anymore. guess they hate me.” like i’m not the one who disappeared.

i want people to chase me, but i’m also emotionally evasive and weirdly selective about who gets to be in my space. i want unconditional love but also want to feel like i earned it. i want you to want me but i also want to feel superior to you for wanting me. i’m not a red flag i’m a red constellation blinking in the dark like a warning system even i can’t decode.

i cry when i’m left out but roll my eyes when someone gets too emotionally close. i long for a group chat where i feel safe but refuse to engage in one unless it was handcrafted by God and curated to my exact sense of humor and trauma compatibility. i am touch-starved but intimacy-repellent. i am a warm smile guarding a locked vault. i am the life of the party and also the emotionally withholding cryptid in the corner refreshing my texts like a feral raccoon looking for scraps of proof that i matter.

no you can’t sit with me. yes i want you to beg. no i won’t start the conversation. yes i’ll be sad if you don’t. no i won’t call you my friend. yes i’ll be devastated if you don’t call me yours.