i asked you to love me in pieces, not all at once.
i’m not really significant to you unless we’re alone, so i asked you to do something—for me, really for us—but truly for me.

i asked for mindless intimacy. the intimacy where you grab my hand almost instinctually during a conversation im not part of. when you play with my hair during a game that requires only one hand and nearly your entire focus. when we’re laughing with friends and your eyes focus on mine for longer than normal. to be noticed, to be acknowledged without much thought yet full intentionality. as if loving me doesn’t require much more than a pinky promise.
i asked for this so that i could be reminded that you think of me even when it’s not just us. a reminder that you have peripheral vision for those you love.

that change hardly came. loving me and all my pinky promises took more out of you than you could even bother to describe. i make you sound like a villain so that i can hope to understand my feelings better. i was too anxious and i asked for too much. this isn’t pity, this is me trying to validate all the reasons why we didn’t work.

loving me in halves and wholes was too much to ask for even though love isn’t an outfit you put on when you feel like it. love isn’t water you die without. love is to care for and cherish, it gives and it takes.

how much more begging was required to receive love that came in quarters, halves, and wholes and not wholes and nothings?