I like to think I’m healing. Despite the missteps and moments of doubt, I know I’m on the right path. I’m self-aware. I know where it hurts, and most of the time, I even understand why it hurts.
But healing brought something I didn’t expect—the loss of feeling. The absence of blind love. The instinct to emotionally detach from anyone who doesn’t serve me. And that’s not who I used to be.
I used to be the “love me, choose me” girl. But more often than not, I was too okay with not being chosen. Too understanding. I handed out free passes to people who didn’t deserve them, letting them toy with my heart without consequence. I used to feel everything so deeply. And now, I feel almost nothing.
I’m not in love anymore. Not even with the idea of it. And honestly, I don’t know if I even remember what love is supposed to feel like.
This relationship taught me some of the best and worst things about myself. That’s what relationships do—even when they don’t work, they reveal. In the beginning, it showed me how unconditional my love could be. How forgiving, nurturing, caring, and trusting I was capable of being.
Until I wasn’t.
Until I finally saw things for what they were. And when that clarity came, it was too late, but somehow still on time. Because then I remembered something I’ve always known about myself—how cold I can be. How quickly I can shut down. And when I do, you’d question whether I ever loved you at all.
Still, I want to be in love again. But this time, with someone who treats me right. I want to feel excited again. I want butterflies. I want to feel silly and childish and consumed by that wild, intoxicating infatuation. Because the absence of all of that? It’s starting to feel like emptiness.
She Was Sea 