What if I'd just been different? Less. More. Quieter. Louder. What if my standards hadn't been so high? What if I'd been easier to love?

This is the spiral. This is where I lose hours to a conversation that already happened, to a person who's already gone, to a version of myself I'm trying to construct in retrospect like it would have changed anything.

The thing about standards is they're supposed to protect you. But sometimes protection just means you're alone with all your requirements, holding them like armor that's too heavy to move in. 🤔

I wonder if I've been waiting for someone to meet me so completely that I wouldn't have to question anything. And maybe that person doesn't exist. Maybe love is just learning to live with doubt. ✨