Maybe I wasn’t made to be loved, at least not in the soft, quiet way that sunlight slips through a window, warming the air as it gently stirs the morning awake. Maybe I’m the kind that comes alive in the dead of night, like a storm crashing against the sea, fierce, unrelenting, too wild to stay. I’ve tried folding myself into arms not shaped to hold me, twisting like origami into spaces that never fit. I’ve written lullabies hoping to soothe, only to be met with silence, like they were never heard at all. It’s not that I don’t feel love, I feel it deeply. But I give until I overflow, until the pressure builds and the dam breaks, leaving ruins where something beautiful used to be. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be someone’s peace. Maybe I was meant to be the ache they carry in their chest, the lesson, the turning point, the reminder of what they didn’t realize they had until it was too late.
