If you even care to read this
Just tell me you hate me, not loudly, not cruelly, just enough to make it real. Something I can hold in my hands instead of this endless guessing.
Because silence stretches, it bends into shapes that scare me, turns into whispers that sound like truth when I’m alone too long.
I keep replaying everything, every message, every pause, every moment you didn’t answer the way I hoped you would. I build whole stories out of seconds, convince myself they mean something they probably don’t.
Do you actually want me around, or am I just someone you don’t know how to leave?
I used to reach for you without thinking, good morning, good night, small pieces of my day I wanted you to have. It felt natural then, like breathing without noticing.
But I started to wonder if I was taking up too much space, if my words lingered too long on your screen, if you sighed before replying, if you ever thought, " Why are they always here?"
So I pulled back. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know if I was welcome.
And now the quiet is unbearable, not peaceful, not calm, just heavy, like something unfinished sitting between us.
My mind doesn’t rest anymore. It just circles, again and again, landing on the same question it can’t answer:
Do you hate me, or am I just afraid you might?
I wish I could believe that not everything is about me, that your silence is just silence, not a hidden message I’m supposed to decode.
But my thoughts don’t work like that. They take the smallest absence and stretch it into proof.
My hands shake like they know something I don’t, like they’re trying to warn me or prepare me for an answer that hasn’t come yet.
I don’t need perfection, just something certain, even if it hurts, even if it confirms everything I’ve been afraid of.
Because this in-between is exhausting, caring this much and not knowing where I stand.
If I’m too much, tell me how to be quieter. If I’m overwhelming, tell me where to soften. If I crossed a line I didn’t see, just point to it, I’ll step back.
And if you don’t want me at all, please just say it. Don’t let me keep guessing my way into feeling unwanted.
I can handle the truth. I just can’t keep fighting both sides of it.
So tell me, not to hurt me, but to let me rest.
Do you hate me, or is this just the sound of my own thoughts echoing too loudly in an empty space?