We want to be Seen, but not Held.
“When we are frightened our heart rate increases, our focus narrows, our eyes dilate, we become flushed, our palms sweat. These are the physiological responses to fear. Turns out they are also the same responses we get when we’re attracted to someone.”
Sometimes I wonder —
when did love start feeling like something we had to earn?
It used to just happen, didn’t it?
Now it feels like there’s a checklist,
a tone,
a timing.
Say too much, you’re needy.
Say too little, you’re cold.
Care too deeply, you’re foolish.
Care too little, you’re detached.
Is this what we’ve done to love — turned it into a performance we keep rehearsing but never live?
Maybe it’s not that people don’t want to love anymore.
Maybe everyone’s just tired.
Tired of trying to be understood in languages no one remembers how to speak.
Sometimes I think commitment scares us not because it limits us —
but because it mirrors us.
Because being with someone long enough means they’ll start seeing the unedited parts,
the dullness after the spark,
the silence after the poetry.
And maybe we’re not ready for that kind of truth yet.
It’s easier to keep things fleeting.
To leave before we’re left.
To pretend we’re fine with “almost” because it hurts less than “forever.”
But is that true for everyone?
Or is it just our generation —
the one raised to believe everything is temporary,
that there’s always something better waiting if we scroll long enough?
Maybe love feels rare because it’s quieter now.
Because it doesn’t compete well with noise.
Because it still requires presence,
and presence feels too heavy for people used to disappearing.
Or maybe —
love hasn’t gone anywhere.
Maybe it’s still sitting somewhere soft,
waiting for us to stop running.