Sometimes I ask myself questions I don’t even know how to answer. Like… do I really want love? Or do I just think I should want it because everyone else seems to? Is it something I genuinely desire, the companionship, the partnership, the softness, or is it loneliness disguised as longing? Truth is, I don’t fully know. I’ve been hurt before. I’ve also seen people pretend to have it all together online, only to break behind the scenes. And yet… I still crave the parts that feel safe, real and consistent.
This poem is me trying to unpack all of that, the craving, the fear, the envy, the honesty. I wrote this from the part of me that wonders if I want the dates more than I want the man, if I want the love or just the safety that might come with it. And maybe you’ve felt that too. Maybe you’ve asked yourself those quiet, complicated questions. If you have, this one’s for you.
They ask me,
“Why do you want a boyfriend?”
And I laugh.
Because I don’t know how to explain the ache
without sounding like I’m begging.
Without sounding like I’m building castles
from someone else’s footprints,
chasing after things I’ve only seen
on Instagram timelines
and in Netflix plots.
Sometimes I want it,
the flowers on a random Wednesday,
the soft hand over mine in traffic,
the shared meals and joint bank accounts.
Sometimes I want the sound of his key
in the lock of our front door
and the warmth of someone choosing me,
daily, softly, loudly,
without shame or shortcuts.
But then I pause.
Do I want the man,
or do I just want the moments?
Do I want love,
or do I want to not feel left behind?
Is this longing mine,
or is it a curated hunger
fed to me by the world,
by photos of surprise proposals,
by bridal hashtags,
by captions that say,
“Marrying my best friend.”
Because if I’m honest…
No one has ever bought me flowers.
Not once.
Not for my birthday,
not for an apology,
not for love.
And it stings,
in a quiet place I don’t often show.
A place where my inner girl
still hopes that maybe…
maybe this year, he’ll show up.
But he never does.
So I give myself roses instead.
I wrap my loneliness
in lavender candles
and let my solitude
smell like peace.
Because if love never comes,
I still want my life to feel good.
I still want a balcony full of plants
and Korean dramas that keep me laughing
into the night.
I still want to light incense
and sip tea slowly,
soaked in my own joy.
Sometimes I think I only feel lonely
when I scroll.
When I see couples
on dates I never get taken on,
wearing matching fits,
posting “baecations”
while I’m home building an empire
with no hand to hold.
But when I’m deep in my hustle,
working on my blog,
packaging orders for my gift shop,
writing my heart out at midnight,
I don’t think about it.
I don’t ache.
I don’t wish.
I am full.
So is it love I want?
Or just a witness to this becoming?
A soft space to exhale into
when the work is done?
Or someone to prove that I, too,
am worthy of being chosen?
I don’t know anymore.
Because I’m afraid, too.
Afraid of choosing wrong again.
Of loving harder, first, fully, foolishly.
Afraid of being the one who gives
while he just takes.
Afraid of patterns repeating,
the charm, the chase,
then the cold silence.
The way they disappear
like a heartbeat
that forgets how to stay.
I am stubborn, yes.
Too proud to beg.
Too soft to stay hard.
Too wild to be caged.
Will he understand that?
Can he hold space
for a woman who dreams in spreadsheets
and scripts the future like film scenes,
but still tucks herself into bed
with doubts as company?
Sometimes I don’t want a relationship,
I want what it brings.
I want someone to text good morning.
I want to be taken care of.
I want surprise gifts,
dinners I don’t have to cook,
someone who puts his arm around me
in public just because.
Call it selfish,
call it materialistic,
but I’ve lived without
for so long
that maybe I just want to know
how it feels.
But then… I wonder,
If I had all the money I needed,
if I bought myself the flowers,
the gifts, the trips, the dresses,
would I still want the man?
Or is he just the middleman
between me
and the life I crave?
Still…
Sometimes I miss the companionship,
the “How was your day?”
The comfort of knowing someone sees me,
even in silence.
Someone who helps carry this life
when it gets heavy.
Someone who makes tea
before I even ask.
But I’ve been alone for so long
that I forget how to make room.
I push people away
not because I want to,
but because I fear the fall.
And if I don’t fall,
I won’t get hurt.
Simple math.
But also a lonely one.
I want the “Will you be my girlfriend?” moment.
I want the giggles,
the matching hoodies,
the Sunday afternoons making pancakes
and planning next dates.
I want to build something real,
a life, a legacy, a love.
And yes,
I want a father figure for my son.
Someone kind.
Present.
Honest.
Someone who won’t disappear
when responsibility shows up.
But sometimes…
I want it all for my own selfish reasons.
Because I am tired.
Because being the strong one
gets heavy.
Because I want to rest
and be held
without needing to explain
why I’m crying again.
But I’ve also come from places
where love was laced
with control,
where giving meant losing myself,
where silence stretched
between two people
who used to talk without words.
I don’t want that again.
So here I am,
Trying to figure it out.
Do I want love,
or do I want rest?
Do I want a person,
or just proof that I’m not broken?
Some days, I want him.
Some days, I want myself more.
Some days, I want to build with someone.
Other days, I want to build alone
and keep all the glory.
Some days, I ache for hugs.
Other days, I’m thankful
no one’s asking me
where I’ve been all day.
But this I know,
Whatever love I attract next
must feel like sunlight.
Like freedom.
Like both of us choosing
again and again,
even on the hard days.
Until then,
I will keep dating my peace.
I will keep dressing for myself.
I will keep creating a life
so full of beauty
that love will have to be extraordinary
to be let in.
And when he comes,
if he comes,
he will not complete me.
He will arrive
to a woman already whole.
So no,
I don’t know exactly what I want yet.
But I’m learning
that it’s okay not to know.
That desire and fear
can coexist.
That longing isn’t weakness,
it’s the soul whispering,
“There’s more.”
And when I’m ready,
truly ready,
not just tired or lonely,
I’ll open the door
without fear.
Not because I need someone,
but because I finally
have enough room inside
to welcome love in
without losing myself again.
I’m still figuring it out. Still learning what love really means for me, outside of what society, family, or Instagram says it should be. I want the soft things, the flowers, the “thinking of you” texts, the being seen and chosen. But I also want peace. I want to feel safe, not scared of being left again. I want to give love without losing myself in it.
So if you’re also in that space, I just want you to know you’re not broken for wanting love, or for not knowing exactly what kind of love you need yet. It’s okay to want both freedom and closeness. It’s okay to want luxury and loyalty. And it’s more than okay to want someone after you’ve chosen yourself first. You’re allowed to want all of it, and you don’t have to explain that to anyone.
