I love love.
I watch it in the way people lean in,
in laughter that spills too easily,
in fingers brushing,
in the looks that say
you’re my favorite place to be.
And I ache for it —
or at least, I think I do,
Because I can’t imagine myself there.
I can’t see my hands being held,
my name being said like a promise.
I can’t picture staying.
I get crushes —
feeling the spark —
but they always stop there.
I can’t picture the rest,
not the kiss,
not the forever.
Just the maybe.
And I don’t know what that means?
Am I broken,
or just unfinished?
Why do I feel everything
except what I’m supposed to?
I tell myself it’s fine,
that maybe I’m meant to love quietly —
in glances,
in almosts,
in stories I’ll never live.
But sometimes it hurts,
watching everyone else find belonging
in ways I can’t reach.
I love love.
I just don’t know how to hold it.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 8:17 PM UTC
I love love.
I watch it in the way people lean in,
in laughter that spills too easily,
in fingers brushing,
in the looks that say
you’re my favorite place to be.
And I ache for it —
or at least, I think I do,
Because I can’t imagine myself there.
I can’t see my hands being held,
my name being said like a promise.
I can’t picture staying.
I get crushes —
feeling the spark —
but they always stop there.
I can’t picture the rest,
not the kiss,
not the forever.
Just the maybe.
And I don’t know what that means?
Am I broken,
or just unfinished?
Why do I feel everything
except what I’m supposed to?
I tell myself it’s fine,
that maybe I’m meant to love quietly —
in glances,
in almosts,
in stories I’ll never live.
But sometimes it hurts,
watching everyone else find belonging
in ways I can’t reach.
I love love.
I just don’t know how to hold it.
I feel it --- but not the way I'm supposed to.
