MrDreamy
Favoured Frenzy
“Do you even realise how tired I am?” he asked.
She looked at him, hurt by the question. “And do you realise how scared I am?”
He had heard those words before. So many times that he had begun to worry them. Yet, somewhere beneath his frustration, he knew her fear was real. What he could no longer understand was why his love had become something she needed to verify every day.
“Every time you become quiet, I feel like I'm losing you,” she continued.
“I become quiet because every conversation turns into a test. If I don't reply immediately, I don't care. If I need time alone, I've changed. How am I supposed to make you believe that I love you?”
“By making me feel that I still matter!”
“You do matter! But why do I have to prove it every single day?”
She fell silent. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't asking for perfection, only the comfort of knowing she wouldn't be abandoned. He, too, wanted to explain that he wasn't tired of her. He was tired of feeling that nothing he did could ever be enough. But exhaustion often makes people speak about their pain in ways that sound like rejection.
“I don't want to fight with you,” he said more softly. “I just want us to be happy again.”
“So do I. Then why can't we?”
He had no answer. Perhaps there wasn't a single answer. Perhaps they had spent so long defending their own pain that they had forgotten to understand each other's.
“Maybe we're so busy being afraid of losing each other that we've forgotten how to be together,” he finally said.
She looked away, fighting back tears. “Are you saying you don't love me anymore?”
“No. I'm saying I don't know how to keep loving you like this.”
Those words hurt because they contained both love and helplessness. She heard the possibility of abandonment. He meant the possibility of losing himself.
“Maybe we should stop,” she whispered.
He looked at her, waiting for her to take it back. She looked at him, hoping he would refuse to let her go. Neither did.
“Maybe we should,” he finally replied.
And just like that, two people who had once promised to stay found themselves agreeing to leave—not because love had disappeared, but because neither knew how to save it anymore.
She looked at him, hurt by the question. “And do you realise how scared I am?”
He had heard those words before. So many times that he had begun to worry them. Yet, somewhere beneath his frustration, he knew her fear was real. What he could no longer understand was why his love had become something she needed to verify every day.
“Every time you become quiet, I feel like I'm losing you,” she continued.
“I become quiet because every conversation turns into a test. If I don't reply immediately, I don't care. If I need time alone, I've changed. How am I supposed to make you believe that I love you?”
“By making me feel that I still matter!”
“You do matter! But why do I have to prove it every single day?”
She fell silent. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't asking for perfection, only the comfort of knowing she wouldn't be abandoned. He, too, wanted to explain that he wasn't tired of her. He was tired of feeling that nothing he did could ever be enough. But exhaustion often makes people speak about their pain in ways that sound like rejection.
“I don't want to fight with you,” he said more softly. “I just want us to be happy again.”
“So do I. Then why can't we?”
He had no answer. Perhaps there wasn't a single answer. Perhaps they had spent so long defending their own pain that they had forgotten to understand each other's.
“Maybe we're so busy being afraid of losing each other that we've forgotten how to be together,” he finally said.
She looked away, fighting back tears. “Are you saying you don't love me anymore?”
“No. I'm saying I don't know how to keep loving you like this.”
Those words hurt because they contained both love and helplessness. She heard the possibility of abandonment. He meant the possibility of losing himself.
“Maybe we should stop,” she whispered.
He looked at her, waiting for her to take it back. She looked at him, hoping he would refuse to let her go. Neither did.
“Maybe we should,” he finally replied.
And just like that, two people who had once promised to stay found themselves agreeing to leave—not because love had disappeared, but because neither knew how to save it anymore.
To be continued ...
