i wish you were more curious. - a.r.

i was curled up in the fetal position crying quietly, my mother sitting on the edge of my bed. in between short breaths, i said “i don’t think i am someone who can be wanted”. at least, that is how i feel. my mother laughed, like she usually does, and pats my back. “you are. i see the ways guys look at you when we’re out, i just don’t tell you and you never see”. “no, you don’t understand. i don’t care about that. i want someone to want to know me.” “someone will, i know it” she replies calmly. only this time, it’s a little more hesitant. she does not know i know this. i don’t know if i’m even correct in saying so. - when i was 15, this happened for the first time in a similar fashion. my chest physically hurt from the inaugural effect of breaking my own heart. i cried and cried and swore that my innocent teenage crush would never subside and per usual, my mom was right. it did, with time. and when it happened again at 18 after the canon event of discovering what it means to be ghosted

saved by

• Varun Goyal