a song by Fall Out Boy or whatever, lol

I didn’t fall for him because he was special.
I fell for him because he was familiar.

For a long time, I believed choosing the wrong people meant I was naïve—or unlucky, or incapable of recognizing red flags. I thought I was missing something obvious that everyone else could see.

But that wasn’t true.

I keep choosing people who almost love me, but never fully commit. They come into my life, listen to my stories, and then disappear. They borrow my depth and leave behind only a lingering emptiness—an echo.

There’s something about them that feels oddly safe. They never fully arrive; they’re always halfway out the door. We share warmth, but it’s surface-level—closeness without risk, a touch without consequence.

And strangely, I find comfort in that.

My heart gravitates toward what feels familiar, even when it isn’t safe. It confuses intensity with intimacy. It mistakes being seen for being wanted.

By the time I understand what’s happening, my body is already invested—leaning in, making compromises, trying to close a gap I didn’t create.

I don’t seek out cruel men.
I choose unfinished ones.

Men who stand close enough to feel warm, but never close enough to burn. Men who enjoy being chosen, but will never choose you in return.

For a long time, I thought this pattern meant something was wrong with me—that I didn’t know how to want better, or that I asked for too much. But I’m beginning to understand this was never about desire.

It was about familiarity.

I wasn’t chasing pain.
I was chasing recognition.

Every time someone stood just short of truly meeting me, I stepped closer—not because I was naïve, but because I hadn’t yet learned this:

Love doesn’t linger on the sidelines.
It arrives fully, or it doesn’t arrive at all.

This isn’t me judging my past self. It’s me trying to understand her.

She kept reaching, hoping someone would reach back. She stayed because leaving felt scarier than believing something better existed. Love came easily because it was the first language she learned.

But now, I see the difference.

Being seen as important isn’t the same as being chosen. Admiration isn’t intimacy. Understanding someone doesn’t mean you are truly connected to them.

Attachment wounds are easily mistaken for love.

And I’m done confusing almost with enough.