Some days I wish I cared less.
Not because I don’t love hard and intense
but because feeling everything this hard
starts to feel like carrying water in my hands.
No matter how gently I hold it,
something still slips through me.
I’m tired of trying to make peace
with things that quietly hurt me.
The small things.
The unspoken things.
The moments that seem harmless to everybody else
but sit in my chest for hours after they happen.
I’ve mastered pretending I’m okay.
Laughing normally.
Responding normally.
Showing up with soft energy
while my mind is replaying a sentence,
a tone,
a shift,
a distance nobody else would even notice.
And maybe that’s my problem.
I feel everything in detail.
I notice hesitation.
I notice inconsistency.
I notice when affection changes temperatures.
I notice when words sound beautiful
but don’t fully reach real life.
And that kind of awareness is heavy.
Because love can exist somewhere
and still leave a person emotionally starving.
That’s the part people don’t talk about enough.
How someone can hold you,
kiss you softly
look at you like you matter…
and somehow you still leave questioning your place in their life.
How reassurance can feel temporary.
How closeness can feel conditional.
How you can be emotionally attached to someone
who still leaves parts of you uncertain.
I think that’s what’s changing me.
Not heartbreak exactly.
Just emotional exhaustion.
The kind that comes from constantly trying to understand,
constantly trying to be patient,
constantly trying to balance your own feelings
with someone else’s limitations.
And eventually,
even love starts feeling heavy when your spirit never gets to rest inside it.
So now I find myself becoming quieter.
Not because I have nothing to say,
but because repeating pain eventually makes you feel foolish.
And I don’t want to become hard.
I don’t want to stop loving softly.
I don’t want bitterness to replace the version of me
that still believes connection should feel safe.
But I also don’t want to keep shrinking my emotions
to fit inside spaces that only make room for parts of me.
I want something that doesn’t make me question myself after
Something that feels clear.
Steady.
Certain.
The kind of love that doesn’t only exist beautifully in private moments,
but continues existing when reality enters the room.
Because I’m learning that love alone
is not always enough to calm a restless heart.
And sometimes the saddest thing isn’t losing someone.
Sometimes it’s realizing
you’ve been slowly losing pieces of yourself
trying to hold onto them.
Ashley Monae 