Love takes a tole

She loves him louder than he’s ever known how to listen, like a storm that never learned how to quiet itself. She studies every flaw he wears— the sharp edges, the restless habits, the way he disappears even when he’s standing right there— and still, she says stay. Still, she says you are enough. She holds his chaos like it’s something sacred, like if she cups it gently enough it might turn into something soft, something kind, something that finally chooses her back. But love shouldn’t feel like begging in a language only one heart speaks. On his good days, he says the right things— wraps her in words that almost feel real, almost feel warm, almost feel like love. But there’s a distance in his eyes that no promise can cross. He looks at her like she’s something misplaced, like she doesn’t quite belong in the space where love is supposed to live. And she notices. God, she notices everything. She remembers the laughter— classmates who carved her name into jokes, a mother who never softened her voice, a father who never stood between her and the hurt, a brother and sister who learned too well how to echo the world’s cruelty. And now it follows her— that laughter— like a ghost that never leaves the room. Even in silence, she hears it. Even in love, she feels it. Because when someone has been told they are not enough for long enough, they start to believe love is something they have to earn by shrinking, by forgiving too much, by staying when they should walk away. She loves him more than he has ever tried to love her. And maybe that’s the quiet truth she’s been too afraid to say out loud— that loving him has started to feel exactly like all the other times she was left standing alone while everyone else laughed