I've tried so many times to love, only to watch it slip away like sand through my fingers. Every time I open my heart, I leave it vulnerable, raw, hoping that this time it will be different. But it never was. Every smile I give, every word I whisper, every quiet hope I nurse in the night, nothing ever reaches them. They feel nothing the way I feel everything. And still, I keep trying.
I've lost friends I wanted to hold closer, lovers I wanted to keep, and each time I convince myself it's okay, I feel the ache grow stronger. I chase the thrill of connection, the head rush of a fleeting touch, the warmth of someone looking at me the way I look at them, but it's always temporary. And when it fades, I'm left staring at the ceiling, my chest heavy, wondering why I care so much when no one else does.
I try to hide it. I try to act like it doesn't hurt, like I'm strong. But the truth is, I spill my feelings in whispers no one hears. I confess in moments I regret. I read into signs that aren't there. I replay conversations in my head until the pain becomes familiar. And even then, I cling to hope, because hope is all I have left in a world where affection seems always just out of reach.
I wish I could stop. I wish I could stop caring so much, stop hoping for a love that might never come, stop breaking every time someone leaves or doesn't feel the same. But I can't. I can't stop loving. I can't stop giving pieces of myself that aren't returned. I can't stop wanting what I'll never have. And every time I see someone I care for, I feel it again—the hollow, impossible truth: I will never be wanted the way I want.
Some people are just born to love too much. To feel too deeply. To give endlessly. To fall silently, painfully, in a way that no one else sees, no one else remembers. We are the ones who hold hearts that will never hold ours, who wait for signs that never come, who burn quietly while the world moves on.
And in the quiet of the night, when the world sleeps and no one is there to see me unravel, I finally admit it: I am the one who loves too much, who waits too long, who hopes too endlessly… and I always, always fail in love alone.
Written by John Benedict N. Banday, Insight PH
John Benedict N. Banday, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
