Raw Confide

It sounds stupid… but it’s real. How do you miss someone whose arms you’ve never felt? Someone you’ve never kissed, never held, never touched? But connection doesn’t need physical proof. Sometimes it’s the way they talk. The way their voice softens when they say your name. The way they randomly check up on you like it’s instinct, not obligation. The way their presence — even online — feels like comfort. I miss the idea of them. The version of them that exists in my head. The version I built from late-night conversations, stolen glances, and imagined moments. I miss what could have happened. I miss the hug that never came, the kiss that never happened, the intimacy that never grew. It’s strange how someone can occupy so much space in your mind with zero physical memories to hold onto. But emotions don’t need permission. They attach. They build. They crave. And me? I’m here missing someone my body has never touched but my heart already recognizes.

Maybe that’s my problem — I love slowly, deeply, intentionally. I want kisses that take their time, conversations that unfold layer by layer, love that is patient and quiet and steady. But life… Life throws me people who rush everything except commitment. People who want my body fast but my heart never. People who promise forever on Monday but disappear by Thursday. I want slow love — the kind that lingers, the kind you sink into, the kind that makes your chest warm. But heartbreak keeps coming fast — quick exits, sudden endings, ghosted messages, silence where affection used to be. It makes me wonder if it’s my fault. If slow lovers aren’t built for this generation. If patience is a weakness now. If wanting depth is asking for pain. But still… some part of me refuses to change. I still want slow kisses. Slow arms around my waist. Slow “I miss yous” whispered into my neck. Even if the heartbreaks come fast, I’ll keep loving slow — because that’s the only way I know how.

It’s embarrassing, honestly. Feeling jealous over someone who hasn’t promised me anything. Someone who owes me nothing. Someone who might not even like me back the way I like them. But here I am — getting irritated when I see their name pop up with someone else, getting quiet when they don’t text back on time, overthinking when they post something that doesn’t include me. I act unbothered. I pretend I’m cool. I respond with “lol” and emojis like my heart isn’t acting stupid. But inside? I’m burning. Not because they’re mine but because I wish they were. I know it’s foolish. I know I have no right. But feelings don’t wait for permission. They attach themselves quietly, softly, and then violently — especially when you try to ignore them. Jealousy without entitlement is the worst kind. Because you suffer silently, pretending you don’t care, while hoping one day they’ll choose you so you can finally stop lying to yourself.

I say “I’m fine” so naturally now that even I almost believe it. It rolls off my tongue like a reflex — a shield, a mask, a lie I’ve memorized. But deep down, I want someone who won’t take that answer. Someone who pauses. Someone who looks at me a little longer. Someone who hears the crack in my voice even when I’m smiling. I want someone who notices the small things: how I go quiet when I’m overwhelmed, how I change the subject when something hurts, how I laugh too quickly when I’m uncomfortable. I want someone who says, “No, tell me the truth.” Not because they’re nosy but because they care enough to look beneath the surface. I want a person who holds my chin and says, “You don’t have to be strong with me.” Maybe it’s unrealistic. Maybe it’s too much to expect. But I’ve spent so long being the strong one that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be understood without explaining. I want someone who sees me — not the version I perform, but the version I hide.

I don’t mean destruction. I don’t mean hurting people. I mean the kind of chaos that shakes life out of boredom. The kind that makes you text someone you shouldn’t. The kind that makes you flirt back knowing it’s dangerous. The kind that makes you want to feel something — even if it’s messy. Sometimes life becomes too quiet. Too predictable. Too… behaved. And a part of me wants to break the silence. To do something reckless, to feel a rush, to remind myself I’m not trapped in routine. It’s not healthy. I know. But some days I crave intensity — something that wakes my heart up. Chaos in the form of temptation, tension, thrill. The kind of chaos that makes your pulse quicken. The kind that you think about later and smile at. The kind that reminds you you’re still human. I don’t always act on it. But the craving? It’s there. Quiet but hungry. Waiting for a spark to ignite it.

It was wrong. But it felt right — painfully right. We weren’t supposed to be that close. We weren’t supposed to let the tension build. We weren’t supposed to stare at each other for too long. But chemistry doesn’t care about rules. When it happened, it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t cautious. It was raw — the kind of kiss that steals your breath and breaks your logic. I knew I shouldn’t. They knew it too. But in that moment, the world wasn’t a list of consequences. It was just two people who wanted each other… finally collapsing into truth. I should regret it. Morally, logically, I should. But I don’t. Not even for a second. Because that kiss reminded me what it feels like to be wanted, to be looked at with fire, to be touched like I mattered. It complicated things. It messed up boundaries. It changed everything. But regret? No. Some moments are worth the chaos.

Everyone thinks I’m over it. They think because I stopped talking, I stopped feeling. But silence is not healing — sometimes it’s surrender. I didn’t move on. I just got tired. Tired of explaining the same pain to people who didn’t understand it. Tired of pretending their absence didn’t sting. Tired of convincing myself the memories didn’t matter. Tired of holding onto someone who wasn’t holding onto me. So I stopped complaining. Stopped asking why. Stopped waiting for apologies I know will never come. Stopped hoping they’d suddenly remember how to love me right. But every night, when it’s quiet, my heart still whispers their name. My mind still replays old moments like unsent drafts. There are still songs I skip because they sound like them. There are still places I avoid because they smell like them. Moving on is loud — it has effort, intention, decisions. But me? I didn’t move. I just shut up. People think strength is not making noise. But sometimes silence is just heartbreak wearin...