The Harsh Reality Of Being The One Who Loves Less

Imagine walking through an empty park under a starry, dark blue sky with the person you love. You skip ahead of them and jokingly taunt about them being “too slow”, they stretch their hand out in front of them to grab yours. In this moment they stare at you like you’re the only person in the world that they see. You shy away, but why is that your first reaction? You shy away because maybe, just maybe, if you look them in the eye, they’ll notice that you’re uncomfortable. Because even though it’s dark, maybe just maybe, they’ll feel it.

The words will never roll off your tongue and into the night sky. You will never bring yourself to say it; to hurt the person who trusts you with every fiber of their being. You want to pretend there’s no elephant in the room of your mind, but you know it’s there. And if you don’t say something soon, he will, too.

You’re the half of this relationship that loves less.

It’s not that your heart isn’t all in, it’s in with all it can provide for that person. That’s just the problem. It puts in all that it can, whatever it can manage to give up.

We are scared to  lose all we have to someone else. The harsh reality of loving less is knowing that you can keep yourself on the fine line between falling endlessly into the sea of love, versus dipping your feet in. I always choose the latter.

I’m afraid, but aren’t we all? I’ve only let the walls of my heart fall once, and it’s going to take the strength and persistence of a special person to bring them down again. I’m not scared to be in love, just to fall in love. I’m not bitter, I chose to continue to fall in love with caution. I’d rather slowly open up than allow myself to be crushed in the process.

I just find it difficult to fully let myself be open to being in love, to being vulnerable…

If you asked me a year ago, when someone important to me walked out of my life, I’d have described myself as vulnerable. I would have admitted to being the one who cared more, the one who loved more, in that relationship.

But things are different now. Now, when people ask me to describe myself, I say “independent.”

When you lose someone close to your heart, everything changes; not just the relationship you two had but your mindset and everything that you used to think you knew. To say I did a complete 360 would be pushing it, I still rely on people sometimes, just less than I used to. I’m afraid of broken promises and a broken heart. I’m also afraid of breaking someone’s heart.

I promise I’m not a monster, I have feelings. They’re just blocked. Suppressed. Hidden…

I don’t trust the way I used to, and rightfully so. Heartbreak does that to you.

I don’t depend on people anymore, I don’t lean on anyone but myself. That’s why love is a harder thing for me to reach. It’s going to take nurturing and patience.

It definitely won’t happen right away.Love grows within you, over time. But at a certain point, you suddenly realize it’s there, it’s always been there. I’m afraid to trust someone enough to get to this point, but I’m willing to try.

To be the half of the relationship who loves more, you must first stop focusing so much on the “what ifs” because the present will pass you by, and you’ll spend every waking moment together full of insecurity and doubt.

To put it simply: my heart is locked, and no one but me has the master-key.

For now.

Featured image via Dima Valkov on Pexels


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