Who i am

Love feels like a language I learned carefully and still speak wrong. Not because I didn’t try, but because some mouths are never shaped for certain words. I watch how easily it fits others. How they carry it without flinching, how it stays without needing constant proof. With me, love turns heavy. It asks me to shrink, to explain my tone, to justify my care like it’s excessive. I don’t think love is cruel. I think it’s selective. Some people are built for distance disguised as closeness. Some hearts survive by staying open. Mine doesn’t. When I love, I disappear into it. I become effort. I become waiting. I become someone easier to leave than to understand. So maybe it’s not refusal. Maybe it’s recognition. That my hands hold things too tightly, that my silence carries too much meaning, that my staying asks for more than most can give. Love isn’t wrong. I might be misaligned. Not broken. Just meant for something quieter than love, something that doesn’t require me to kee