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"It's not that I don't want to be loved.
It's just… what if I'm loved the wrong way?"
Dear Diary,
He saw me.
He read every word I poured into that letter —
the fears, the softness, the ache that's been blooming behind my ribs.
And he stayed.
But now, the silence after feels louder than it should.
It's not because he said the wrong thing.
He said all the right ones.
Gentle ones.
True ones, maybe.
But something inside me is trembling.
Not because of him…
but because of me.
I've spent so long building this quiet world —
a world where I can feel everything without the risk of being misunderstood,
where my thoughts dance freely in the air,
never crushed by clumsy hands.
And now someone's in that world.
Touching it.
Walking barefoot through it.
Reading the sentences I've only ever written in the dark.
And I'm scared.
Scared of being too much.
Too quiet.
Too dreamy.
Too intense.
Too strange.
Too soft.
Scared he'll love the idea of me,
but not the reality —
the one that gets moody for no reason,
cries at the scent of old books,
zones out during conversations because a leaf outside reminded her of something she dreamed last year.
Scared he'll say he wants to understand,
but someday stop trying.
I know it's unfair to him.
To doubt a boy who has only ever been kind.
Who has held my hand like it's something he's thankful for.
Who calls me "a wonder" when I least expect it.
But fear isn't logical.
It creeps in through the cracks,
wraps around your heart,
and whispers, "You'll ruin this like you ruin everything."
So today, I pulled away a little.
Not enough for him to notice — not really.
But enough to build a tiny wall.
Just in case.
He asked me if I was okay.
I smiled and said I was tired.
Which wasn't a lie… just not the whole truth.
The truth is:
I'm terrified of being loved wrong.
But maybe, more than that —
I'm terrified of finally being loved right.
Because what if I let him in
and he actually sees all of me
and still stays?
What then?
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌫️💭
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