If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t want him. I wouldn’t be drawn to the way he made comfort feel counterfeit. He wasn’t smooth. He wasn’t simple. He showed up like a question I couldn’t answer, a feeling I couldn’t name. With him, everything I thought I knew about love started to feel too small. And the scariest part wasn’t that it was messy – it was that I wanted it anyway.

What unsettled me wasn’t the difficulty. It was the depth. The intensity. The way he made me feel seen without asking for anything. He didn’t offer stability in the way I used to chase it, but he offered something more dangerous – truth. Being around him made me feel alive and exposed all at once. It wasn’t about whether I could love him. It was whether I could stand to be loved in a way that didn’t let me hide.

That’s what scared me. Wanting something I couldn’t contain. Wanting someone who didn’t make it easy to stay guarded. Because when you love someone who sees through you, it’s no longer about being liked – it’s about being held in the places you thought were too messy to reveal. And that’s not simple. That’s not neat. That’s not something you can walk away from untouched.

Still, I wanted him. Not because he was safe, but because he was real. And somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting the kind of love that lets you sleepwalk through life. I wanted the kind that wakes you up. Even if it doesn’t come easy. Especially then.