AcetheticallyPleasing

United States

Asexual || Dreamer || Hufflepuff
Hopeless romantic dreaming to find her true love
Songs || Stories || Poems
In love with two people, plus someone who can never be mine.

Message to Readers

I’ve noticed that I care less about feedback and likes when I’m writing about people that are important to me. Is this what writing for yourself feels like?

Their “I love you”s

September 15, 2020

FREE WRITING

0
Sometimes I get nervous that my bumblebee has lost interest in me. 
I worry I wasn’t enough, I worry that they’ll never love me the way I love them. 
I fear this for the main reason being that they don’t express affection the way I do. 
I express my love with mass texts, pleas to call, and drawings of them that litter my art account on Instagram. 
I curl in on myself, realising they haven’t drawn me in a while. Realising they don’t seem interested when we text. Realising they prefer to spend their time playing games with friends or watching YouTube. Realising that they’ve stopped asking to call, to play games, to even watch them play a game. They used to plan out ways to make me blush and stutter, finding it cute. They used to flirt like crazy. They used to love talking about me to someone and saying “girlfriend”. They used to talk to me nonstop, 24/7, barely a breath between our conversations. They used to compliment me often. They used to be so open with their affection. Now things are different. 
I say “I love you”.
They say “love you too”, but in my mind I conclude that they’re disinterested. They don’t even care to add the “I” in the beginning. They’re tired. 
Plans get cancelled and I’m left feeling lonely. 
I wonder why they haven’t left if they’re so tired of me. 
I admit to them a handful of my worries, and they respond with compassion.
They say “love you” without the “I” because it offers a sense of domesticity. Like a peck of the cheek as a partner leaves for work. They offer to bring the “I” back if it calms my nerves. 
They’ve stopped asking to call or play games, because they know I often can’t, and they don’t want me to feel guilty for saying no. 
As time passes, I notice other things. Other forms of “I love you” from them. 
The way they text me while I’m asleep about arbitrary things, from a conversation they had with their mom to in-depth analyses about fandoms we’re in. 
The way they get serious and protective the second I mention someone’s hurt me. 
Their patience with my stubbornness, the way they persist in getting through to me when anyone else would have given up. 
The excitement in their tone when they show me their drawing of the YouTubers they watch.
The casual flirting that I don’t think twice about until late at night. 
The way they’re adamant on getting me to start being even slightly nicer to myself. 
The warmth they offer when I’m scared they’re upset with me, or when I do something they don’t like, or when I express they’ve hurt me in one way or another. 
It dawns on me that they’ve not lost interest at all. Our dynamic has simply changed. The honeymoon phase at the beginning of our relationship ended much quicker than what I had expected. 
In their eyes, I realise, we’re at a much more domestic stage in our relationship. A stage where we aren’t dependent on each other’s compliments or gifts. A stage where we don’t have to be attached at the hip to understand we’ll always be there for each other. We aren’t as affectionate but we love each other more than ever. 
My “I love you”s come in screaming colour. 
My “I love you”s come in drawings, compliments, and incessant stories of how often I think about them. 
Their “I love you”s come in sporadic messages, yet frequent enough to where I never open my phone to an empty notification bar.
Their “I love you”s come in using my real name when they need to get through to me past my panic attack and defeatist attitude. 
Their “I love you”s come in a silent tsunami. 
And I never think twice about it until late at night. 

Print

See History
  • September 15, 2020 - 1:38am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.