You always seem to have this uncanny ability to dig in just deep enough to stir something inside me—something chaotic, something loud. I don’t know if you realize how hard it is to keep my composure around you, especially when it feels like you take my feelings and toss them aside as if they mean nothing. I try to stay calm, to be rational, to explain myself in a way that you’ll understand—but you don’t listen. Or maybe you just don’t care. And that’s what drives me up the wall.
Every time we argue, I feel like we’re dancing in circles, never making progress, just spinning and spinning until we both collapse from exhaustion. There’s no resolution, no closure—just a constant loop of miscommunication and tension that leaves us both bitter and bruised. And still, even in the middle of all this mess, there’s this maddening pull toward you that I can’t seem to resist.
I should hate you for it. I should walk away and never look back. But I don’t. I can’t. Because even with all the conflict, all the shouting, all the misunderstandings, you still mean something to me. Something deeper than all the chaos you create. It’s confusing. It’s overwhelming. But it’s real.
Despite everything—every sarcastic remark, every careless word—you’ve said or done, there’s a part of me that always holds on to you. And I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s just habit. Or maybe… it’s something more. Something I’ve been too scared to admit out loud until now.
And that something is love. Yes, I said it. It’s love. As much as it terrifies me to admit, as much as I want to fight it, the truth is that I’m in love with you. It’s not some fleeting feeling or passing crush. It’s deep. It’s maddening. It’s inconvenient. And yet, it’s there.
I’ve tried to deny it. To tell myself that it’s not real—that it’s just leftover feelings or some twisted sense of attachment. But it’s not. No matter how much I try to bury it, it always resurfaces. When I hear your voice. When I remember your laugh. When I catch myself hoping you’ll text me first. It’s love, plain and painful.
And it’s not some idealized version of love either. It’s not perfect or beautiful all the time. It’s messy. Complicated. Sometimes infuriating. But it’s love nonetheless. I feel it in the way I miss you when you’re gone, in the way I still worry about you, even when I’m mad at you.
I love you despite your flaws. Despite the things you do that make me want to scream. Despite the way you sometimes act like you don’t care. I love you through it all—through the storm, through the silence, through the times when we feel like strangers to each other.
But here’s the thing: love isn’t enough. Not on its own. Love might be the spark, but it’s not the fuel that keeps the fire burning. We need more than just feelings. We need effort. We need honesty. We need to be willing to actually show up for each other.
And that’s where things start to unravel. Because as much as I love you, I feel like I’m the only one trying. Like I’m the only one reaching out, the only one trying to fix what’s broken between us. And that’s not fair. I can’t do this alone.
I’m tired. Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, mentally—tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of repeating myself. Tired of feeling like my words are falling on deaf ears. I want peace, not another round of the same argument we’ve had a hundred times before.
I want us to be better. I want us to figure this out. But I need you to want it too. I need you to meet me halfway. To stop brushing things under the rug and pretending that everything is fine when it’s clearly not.
We can’t keep pretending that these issues will fix themselves. They won’t. We need to talk—really talk—not just yell or blame or shut down. We need to open up and be vulnerable, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
I know I’m not perfect either. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve said things in the heat of the moment that I regret. I’ve hurt you, and for that, I’m truly sorry. But I’m trying. I’m willing to keep trying. Are you?
Because this can’t be one-sided. We both have to care. We both have to put in the work. We both have to want the same thing, or else what’s the point?
I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to walk away from something that still means so much to me. But I also don’t want to keep hurting. I don’t want to keep wondering if I matter to you, or if I’m just a convenience when it suits you.
There’s still a part of me that believes in us. That believes we can come out on the other side of this stronger, better, more connected than ever before. But belief alone won’t carry us. We need action. We need truth. We need each other.
I’m willing to start over. To rebuild. To relearn each other. But only if you are. Only if you can put aside your pride and actually see me—hear me—for who I am and what I’m trying to say. Not as someone you need to win against, but as someone who just wants to be understood.
So here it is. My heart. My honesty. My truth. I’m standing here, not with anger, but with vulnerability. With love. With hope. I want to talk to you—not to fight, not to accuse, but to heal. To understand. To reconnect. The question is… are you ready to do the same?
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