I catch myself thinking: do people fall in love with the idea of someone more than the person themselves? 💭 Because sometimes, the gestures, the words, the smiles… they feel like performances, rehearsed for the applause of a perfect image. And then I wonder, am I guilty of the same, even unknowingly?

I like to believe I crave authenticity, yet there’s a part of me that secretly hopes for someone dramatic, intense, chaotic. 🔥 Someone who will shatter my perfectly curated calm. Yet when that chaos appears in fleeting moments around others, I recoil. I love the concept of wild passion, but the reality terrifies me. Is it that I fear losing myself, or that I’m just afraid of truly seeing another person without filters?

I notice how I romanticize solitude, calling it “freedom” and “clarity,” but isn’t it really just fear in disguise? 😶‍🌫️ Fear of compromise, of vulnerability, of being entwined in someone else’s mess. And the paradox hits me hard: I crave connection, yet I protect myself with an invisible moat of skepticism and sarcasm.

Maybe I’ll never fully reconcile this. Or maybe it’s not about reconciling but observing the contradictions, living them, and questioning them endlessly. 💔💡 So here I am, reflecting yet again: are we truly seeking love, or just the version of it that doesn’t challenge us too much?