What’s The Most Dangerous Thing You’ve Ever Done For Love?

The most dangerous thing I ever did for love didn’t involve heights, burning buildings, or late–night bus rides to places my mother warned me about.
It was simpler, quieter, and far more destructive:
I loved someone at the expense of myself.

I stayed in a relationship where my heart kept giving, but theirs kept taking. I lived on hope—hope that one day they would wake up and see me, really see me. Hope that my patience would turn them gentle. Hope that my loyalty would inspire theirs.

Instead, I lost myself one compromise at a time.
I stopped speaking up.
Stopped asking for reassurance.
Stopped admitting when something hurt.

I told myself it was maturity, but it was fear—fear that if I stood up for myself, the little love I was getting would disappear completely.

The danger wasn’t the love; it was the silence.
The danger wasn’t loving them; it was forgetting how to love me.

The breakup didn’t destroy me.
Realizing I had abandoned myself did.

But that’s the thing about dangerous love—it teaches you survival.
Now, I don’t love to be chosen. I love myself enough to walk away from anything that makes me disappear.
Sometimes the most dangerous thing you can do…
is love someone more than you love yourself.

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