I thought love was somewhere I could finally rest.
I gave it my heart, believing it wouldn’t hurt me.
I craved the warmth, the comfort, the feeling of belonging.
I just wanted to be loved without having to fucking fear it.
But all I got was hurt disguised as affection.
I trusted, I forgave, and I got broken over and over.
So I buried the parts of me that still wanted to believe.
Built walls so high that even kindness couldn’t reach me.
Now every stranger feels like another potential wound.
Every gentle touch feels like a warning of what’s to come.
I keep everyone at a distance, even when I’m aching for closeness.
Because deep down, I’m still begging to be loved
Terrified of getting hurt again.