The Weight Of Expectations

Chapters Four

A Ghost Of What Could Have Been

"The greatest pain that comes from love is loving someone you can never have." 
   — Anonymous

I was young—too young to truly understand what love meant. But there was this boy, my best friend. Isn’t that where girls like me always seem to end up? Stranded in the friend zone, where your heart aches quietly as you watch him fall for someone else.

We had our moments, moments that made me feel special, maybe even loved. When we met, we kissed. It was my first kiss, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything I ever wanted. I was infatuated, maybe even in love. But can you really call it love when you’re too young to understand its weight?

Still, I loved him—or at least I thought I did. Even after he found someone else, my heart stubbornly clung to those fleeting moments. I was devastated, the kind of heartbreak that makes you sing sad songs in your room and write tragic poems. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. How do you hate the person who gave you your first kiss, who made you feel seen?

When he started dating someone else, it was like the world crumbled around me. He knew how I felt—he had to. But he chose to keep me hanging on, maybe out of some twisted sense of kindness, or maybe just because it was easier for him. He didn’t owe me anything, of course, but that didn’t dull the pain. It didn’t stop my heart from breaking every time I saw them together.

Then I moved away, but a piece of my heart stayed with him, trapped in the past, in those unfulfilled dreams of what could have been. We never spoke again, and I slowly realized that he never truly cared. Not because he didn’t return my feelings, but because his words were empty, his promises hollow. He moved on so effortlessly, leaving me to wonder why my heart still aches for a love that never really existed.

"We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all." 
   — Eleanor Roosevelt

I’ve always been the kind of person who falls easily, almost too easily. Infatuation comes to me like a tidal wave, sweeping me off my feet before I even realize what’s happening. But the thing about falling so hard, so fast, is that letting go becomes nearly impossible. It’s like my heart latches on, refusing to release its grip, no matter how much it hurts.

Whenever I crush on someone, it’s not just a fleeting feeling. It’s an obsession, a desperate need to be seen, to be validated, to be loved by them. I pour all my energy into wanting them to notice me, to acknowledge my worth. I get caught up in fantasies, imagining a love that I so desperately crave, but deep down, I know it’s unhealthy.

I’ve spent so much time and energy wanting others to love me that I’ve neglected the one person who truly needs my love—myself. I haven’t figured out how to stop these obsessive tendencies, how to break the cycle of seeking validation from boys, or from things that I think will make me feel whole.

But I’m hopeful. I’m hopeful that one day, I’ll be able to look in the mirror and love myself with the same adoration I’ve always had for others. I want to learn how to fill the emptiness inside with my own self-worth, to be enough for myself without needing someone else to make me feel complete.

"Healing is not linear, and that's okay."
-Mona Lisa

...I haven’t figured out how to stop my obsessive tendencies toward both guys and things, but I hope...I can. I hope I can love myself with as much adoration as I do, boys.

But the reality is, my heart has always been a maze of contradictions—constantly torn between the desire to be seen and the fear of being invisible. It's like I’m stuck in this endless loop, always hoping that the next crush, the next boy, will be the one to finally fill that void inside me. Yet, every time, I end up back at the same place—alone with my thoughts, questioning my worth, wondering why I’m never enough.

I’ve spent so much time investing in people who never saw me, never truly valued me. And it’s left me feeling empty, like a part of me is missing. But I’m starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, it’s not about them. Maybe it’s about me—learning to value myself, to see my own worth, even when others don’t.

I keep telling myself that love will find me when I’m ready, that the right person will come along who will see me for who I am and love me for it. But until then, I need to learn to be okay on my own, to find peace in my solitude, and to stop letting these fleeting infatuations control me.

It’s a process—a slow, sometimes painful process—but I’m getting there. Little by little, I’m learning to let go of the past, to release the hold that these unrequited loves have had on me, and to focus on the one relationship that truly matters—the one I have with myself.

Maybe one day, I’ll look back on all this and smile, knowing that each heartbreak, each moment of longing, brought me closer to the person I’m meant to be. Until then, I’ll keep working on myself, keep trying to love myself, even when it feels impossible.

As much as I wish I could just snap my fingers and let go, it’s never that simple. The heart is stubborn, holding on to the past like a lifeline, even when it knows better. There are days when I feel like I’m making progress, like I’m finally starting to understand what it means to love myself. But then there are other days, darker days, when the memories come flooding back, and the old wounds start to ache again.

But I’ve learned that healing isn’t a straight path. It’s a journey with twists and turns, highs, and lows. While I might not have all the answers yet, I’m learning to be patient with myself. I’m learning that it’s okay to take my time to stumble along the way, as long as I keep moving forward.

So, even though a part of my heart still aches with the lingering memories of a love that never truly happened, I know that I’m on the right path. I’m learning to let go, to release the grip on what could have been, and to embrace the possibilities of what could be.

And, as I close this chapter, I remind myself that the love I’ve been searching for has always been within me. It’s just taken me a little longer to see it.

But I’m getting there. Slowly, but surely, I’m getting there.