if love is real is it in the petals they leave behind
or in the arms that wrap around you
when you're unraveling in silence?
Is it in the stillness they bring,
the quiet safety, the ease of just existing
without having to explain yourself?
Is it the routine confessions
the "good mornings,"
the "I love yous,"
the promises that sound like forever
but feel like smoke?
I wouldn't know.
I can't even imagine
what it feels like
to be the center of someone's orbit,
to be chosen before the world collapses.
I've always been the fallback,
the afterthought
never the reason ,only the remainder.
And maybe that's what fate meant to be
Maybe some souls
aren't written into love stories.
Maybe some of us are just born to ache.
Born to be the empty seat,
the space no one reaches for.
It took surrender to understand this truth:
I was not built to be held.
I was made to disappear.
To walk this world unloved.
Unwanted.
And die
still waiting
to be someone's first choice.