I waited for a love that never came. Not from the wrong person. From no one at all.
I built a life anyway. It is a good life. I am not writing to complain about it. I am writing because I have never said, out loud, that I am tired of pretending I stopped wanting it.
— Anonymous
A Reflection
Wanting is not a failure of contentment. It is a sign that something in you is still open, still reaching, still alive.
There is a quiet grief in a life that is good but not the one you imagined. It is allowed to sit at your table without ruining the meal.
You do not have to choose between gratitude and longing. Both can be true. Both are true in most of us, most of the time.
The love you waited for may or may not arrive. The tenderness you have offered yourself while waiting — that is already a form of it.