I fell for someone who uses ‘sweetheart’ on everyone.

It started small.
They called me “sweetheart” one day and my chest warmed like it meant something special.
Like it was ours.
Like the word belonged to only me.

But then I heard them use it on someone else.
And then another person.
And suddenly “sweetheart” didn’t feel like a pet name — it felt like a greeting.

I tried to laugh it off, pretend it didn’t bother me, pretend the jealousy wasn’t eating at my pride.
But it did.
Because I didn’t fall for their words — I fell for the way they made me feel when they said them.

There’s something cruel about charming people.
Not intentionally cruel, but unknowingly lethal.
They spread warmth so easily that everyone thinks they’re special… until they realize the warmth was never exclusive.

So now I’m stuck, liking someone who doesn’t even know their smallest gesture can confuse my heart.
Someone whose softness isn’t personal.
Someone who makes me feel chosen… when I’m not.

And yet, when they call me “sweetheart,” I still melt a little.
Even though I know better.

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