Almost? Maybe?.... Wait... Never.

Not a clean answer.

Not the kind that wraps things up with a neat little bow.
Just enough to leave everything halfway open, halfway shut—
Like a door that creaks when you walk past it, reminding you it’s still there, unfinished.

And yeah, I guess I’ve been telling myself it wasn’t a “no.”
But I can’t pretend it was a “yes.”
Not when my chest feels this hollow. Not when the silence afterward says more than any words ever could.

I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.
It’s like everything inside me’s been shaken up and dumped out in the dark.
Love? Imagination? Loneliness wearing someone else’s name?
I don’t know. I really don’t.
It’s just noise now.
And the louder it gets, the more I think: Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was never anything.

Just… me. Wanting. Hoping. Reaching. For something that was never reaching back.

And that would be easier to accept if it didn’t come with the risk of losing him completely.
Because that’s what really fucks me up.

My past still haunting me, making me doubt myself the most.

And this isn’t just about whatever maybe existed between us.
It’s about him being someone I trust. Someone who feels like home, even in the quiet.
Someone who’s been in my life in a way that feels safe, even when nothing else does.

And now I’m scared I ruined it.
That I tainted something good with my messy, aching, stupid heart.
That I let my imagination scribble all over a friendship that didn’t need fixing.
That I’ll be left with nothing—not the love I thought I wanted, and not the friend I needed.

I swear, sometimes I think the universe gave me too many feelings and not enough instruction.
Like, here—take this oversized, malfunctioning heart and figure it out.
Try not to bleed on anyone you care about.

And the worst part? I keep wondering if I’m just broken.
Like, fundamentally.
Because I get stuck in my own head so easily, spinning stories and calling them “possibilities.”
And then I end up here. Alone. Humiliated. Afraid to lose someone I probably never had in the first place.
And maybe that’s why I keep telling myself: Just shut it all down.
Feel nothing. Want nothing. Care less. Be cold. Be quiet. Be safe.

Is it the best ? To prevent my heart from being broken, I pretend I never had one?

But God—how do you make yourself numb when all you’ve ever been is too much?

There’s this constant battle inside me.
One side screaming, Be honest. Be real. Tell him how you feel.
The other side hissing, Are you trying to destroy everything again? Do you want to lose him too?
And then there’s the third voice—the quietest one—the one I try to silence but can never quite erase:
Maybe there was never anything to ruin. Maybe it was always just you.

And outside of this chaos—there’s still my life.
My future. My ambition.
The version of me I’m trying to build while dragging this heavy, invisible pain behind me.
I have so much to prove.
To the people who’ve doubted me.
To the ones who walked away.
To the ones who still smile to my face but secretly hope I fail.
To myself—the girl in the mirror who sometimes looks back and whispers, “You’re not enough.”

And I want to scream back, Yes, I am. Watch me.
Even when I don’t believe it.
Even when my heart feels like rubble and my mind is exhausted.
Even when I’m trying to figure out how to be soft and strong at the same time.

Because I’m not worthless.
I can’t be.
I’ve survived too much. I’ve felt too deeply. I’ve fought too long to let that be the ending.
And if I have to keep proving my worth with shaking hands and tired eyes, so be it.
Because there’s still something in me that refuses to quit.
Even if it’s buried under sadness and silence and things I never say out loud.

I keep thinking of BTS again.
Of “Black Swan” and the fear of losing your passion, your soul.
Of “Zero O’Clock” and that moment right before hope begins again.
And most of all, of “Epiphany.”
Jin’s voice telling me—soft, steady, sure—“I’m the one I should love.”

I don’t know how to believe that yet.
But I want to.
And maybe that’s the first step.

So yeah… I don’t want to lose him.
But I also don’t want to lose me.
And if I have to choose,
I’m learning—slowly, painfully—to choose myself.

Even if it hurts.
Even if I cry quietly at night and smile too brightly during the day.
Even if I never get the answers I want.

Because I’m still here.
Still fighting.
Still becoming.
And maybe that’s enough—for now.