Why I Gave Up On Love

3 min readApr 10, 2024


It’s time for a bit of selfishness

Photo by Tyler Nix on Unsplash

Like the dew, it fell ever so delicately all around me. A white, soft, and fluffy feeling upon the surface of my palm, like cotton candy. It smelled of the sky cuddling the earth, radiating the smell of wet earth like when the first rain falls after a long, dry, and dusty season. Such a beautiful wonder, but then I reached out to touch it.

I didn’t get to feel it in my palms because it swiftly and subtly melted under the heat of the proximity of my palms. It turned to water, funny, the water had a human face. It looked sad.

Without looking at me, it seeped towards another dew, which turned into more sad-faced water. Like a domino, it spread.

Suddenly, there’s a river in front of me, made from melted dew, sweeping the earth under my feet. Losing the tight bounds of the soil.

I still don’t know how the story ends because I gave up. That’s how it has always felt. Grasping for something but never obtaining it.

Have you ever come to a point in your life where you realize that what you keep holding onto is also trying its best to elude you? Like wanting to cuddle a toddler but they just want to get away from you.

I gave up on love?


Oh, how I’d love to say that.

Maybe then I could confidently lie down in the middle of a children’s playground, making snow angels in the hot sand, skin scorching but without a thought that I might be found unsuitable by a potential suitor.

Maybe then, when I feel your gaze threatening to break my every rib cage in the hope of stealing my heart, I wouldn’t cowardly turn away and feel self-conscious. I would stare back, daring you to a fight of unspoken words. Drowning out your silent insecurities and calling you up higher, to a place of the courageous.

Maybe then I could finally eat shawarma in public, spilling bits of mayonnaise all over my lips and frantically trying to catch every falling meat, the crispy wrapping bread disintegrating with every bite.

Maybe then I could bust some dance moves at a party. Murdering every step, and laughing hysterically till I unknot every tense muscle that clings to my bones.

When it’s raining, I could run into the streets and look at the sky, My arms would be stretched akimbo and I would feel every raindrop make rhythms upon my face. I would wear a plaid skirt and swish it around like a child, my heart pounding with excitement and my head as light as a feather.

When I meet new people, I could give a hearty snarky laughter without thinking if I grossed the person out, and maybe we could talk about the most insignificant things without any prejudice to mental excellence.

How I would love to say that I gave up on love because then I would never have to feel the burden of looking perfect enough for another human being.


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