Ah, you’ve got to love the beginnings.
The ego trips. The push and pull. Drawing someone in just enough, but never too much. Always measuring, always calculating. Making sure you never give away more than you should.
Don’t you hate it?
I do.
I wish it were simpler. More straightforward. No guessing games. No assumptions. Just all the cards laid out on the table. Knowing who you’re dealing with and what they truly mean.
But humans are complicated. So are our lives. It was never going to be that simple.
And if I’m being honest, as I’ve admitted so many times before, it’s exactly that edge that hooks me too. Like a curious fish chasing a glimmer beneath the surface, every damn time.
Maybe it feels different now because I’ve seen what people are capable of. What men are capable of. If I didn’t know before, I know for damn sure now.
I can’t love someone again unless they love me first.
And I won’t believe those words again unless they feel true. Not just in a moment, not just when it’s convenient, but every day. Consistently. Patiently. For as long as it takes.
I used to make it so easy for people. I was accommodating, loving, caring. I gave freely and often without hesitation. And where did it get me? Used. Taken for granted. Left holding the weight of things I never should have carried alone.
I have to make sure that never happens again.
But damn.
A part of me still wants to.
When you’re intoxicated by someone’s scent, by their presence, by the way they make you feel, it becomes dangerously easy to be foolish again. Even when you know you’ll spend the aftermath picking yourself apart for it.
I wish life didn’t have a way of stripping away the beauty, innocence, and purity of what human connection is supposed to be.
I wish experience taught us wisdom without taking wonder with it.
She Was Sea 