A sudden realization

I’ve come to a realization about care and nonchalance.

I know the world is going through a nonchalance epidemic, but I’ve realized that nonchalance only exists when you don’t care about somebody.

Because every time you truly care, that care will slip through your words, your actions. 

It will always rise to the surface. And the other person will always know that they are cared for, that they matter to someone.

So I think, as long as I care about you or about anyone, nonchalance isn’t my thing.

But yes, I’m sure I’m nonchalant toward every person I never liked or never cared about.

So nonchalance isn’t something cool.

If someone shows that they are nonchalant, they really don’t care and you should pack your bags and walk away.

Because life is too short to be with someone who doesn’t care about you.

Let’s not call it friendship, let’s not call it love, lets not say, " oh they are just emotionally not very expressive. Let’s just call it, "I don’t deserve this " and move on.

I feel I was born as an ocean but I kept shrinking to be somebody's pond so they don't feel like I was too much. 

Sometimes you just have to say this is not how I want to be loved for the rest of my life and move on.

I think when you truly become comfortable with your silence — in your own solitude — when you stop trying to be with someone who keeps leaving, when you just sit numb within your quiet, and slowly that silence turns into solitude, I think that’s when someone enters your life who wants to celebrate you, who wants to share that silence with you.

And that’s when you realize — even if this person leaves, it might hurt, but you’ll still love your own company.

When you reach that point where you appreciate someone’s presence, but their absence no longer scares you — because you’re no longer afraid of being with yourself.

I think that’s when you find the right people.

At least, that’s how I want to make sense of this story.

At least, this is how I want to believe.

At least, this is what I feel I need to learn to celebrate me.

It’s past midnight, and there are songs that remind me of someone.

But I don’t want to fantasize, thinking they must be missing me too,

that they must be thinking about me, regretting not being here by my side.

Because I don’t want to feed those thoughts anymore. I know they had a hundred chances to stay, but they chose to leave.

They knew what they were doing, they knew it would hurt, and still, they left.

So I no longer fantasize about being missed.

Because people choose who they miss, just as they choose who to leave.

My story wasn’t tragic. It was planned, deliberate, a move well thought out.

It wasn’t a tragedy; it was simply a story that came to an end.

And I know I was the one who tried to hold on,

the one who was left behind.

So yes, I can miss someone,

but I won’t romanticize being missed

by someone who chose to leave me  again and again.