I held your shadow like a gospel in the rain,
while you kept circling exits in your mind.
I called it love, a holy, aching stain,
you called it “too much,” “heavy,” “misaligned.”
I memorized your silence like a hymn,
you memorized the map back to your door.
I begged for scraps of presence, loud and thin,
you starved the flame, then said I asked for more.
I named the rush between us “destiny,”
that lightning in the chest that feels like fate.
But it was limerence dressed up as divinity,
a fever dream that taught my heart to wait.
I carved your absence into sacred art,
framing every withdrawal as a test.
You called my longing “clinging, torn apart,”
then wore my devotion like a tightened vest.
I stalked your moods like weather on a screen,
reading clouds for proof that you still cared.
You stood half-in, half-out, politely mean,
terrified of depth, of being bared.
I made excuses for your vanishing acts,
“they’re just afraid, they love me but can’t stay.”
I bent my spine around your missing facts,
choosing the fantasy over what you’d say.
I called this chaos “soulmate, twin-flame fire,”
because the burn felt too intense to be untrue.
But pain is not a compass, not a choir,
it’s often just my nervous system screaming you.
True love is quieter than my shaking hands,
it doesn’t thrive on begging or on chase.
It meets me in the open, where I stand,
and doesn’t flinch when I show all my face.
True love says, “Rest,” not, “Earn another day,”
it doesn’t vanish when I finally fall apart.
It holds, not hooks; it doesn’t make me pay,
and doesn’t weaponize a tender, open heart.
I used to think that needing you was proof,
that the more I ached, the deeper it must be.
But love is not the chain, it is the roof,
a shelter where both souls walk in free.
So if you feel this storm inside your chest,
and call it love while losing who you are,
Ask if your devotion ever gets to rest,
or only circles ’round a distant star.
Because limerence will tell you this is fate,
while you bleed out beneath a borrowed name.
And true love waits beyond that anxious gate,

the kind that stays without demanding pain as proof of flame.

RSP

DCG

How do you know if you actually love somebody, or if you’re just attached to them?

Love, in its most healthy and mature form, is a decision. It’s an intentional, consistent choice to nurture the growth, well-being, and soul of another person because of who they are, not because of what they do for you or what they give to you. You look at this person and you respect them, you admire them, you trust them, and you see them as your equal.

Love creates a space where both people can be fully themselves, can feel safe, and can evolve and grow.

But attachment, on the other hand—attachment is based on need or emotional gratification. It’s about how the other person makes you feel: safe, desired, validated, important, or not alone. And while that’s not inherently bad—we all have needs—unhealthy or anxious attachment is self-focused. It clings out of fear of loss, loneliness, or abandonment, rather than genuine appreciation for who that person is.

So, to recap:
• Love says, “I love them for who they are.”
• Attachment says, “I need them to be around because of what they do for me—how they make me feel.”

Make sure the person you’re with is someone you’re truly in love with, and not just someone you’re toxically attached to.