By Jameson Reed
April 27, 2025
I’m 23, and I feel like I’m running out of time, or at least that’s what my brain tells me every time I think about it. The truth is, I’ve never been kissed, never gone on a real date, and never had anyone confess feelings to me. No one ever made my heart race in that way, and no one’s ever looked at me the way I imagine they would—like I’m someone worth fighting for.
When my mom asks if I’ve found anyone, I always brush it off with some excuse about being too busy. “Work is crazy, and I’m juggling school too.” The truth is, I don’t even know how to explain it. Between my 9-5 job and being a full-time student, there’s barely time to catch a breath, let alone go out and try to meet someone. When my head finally hits the pillow, all I want is to sleep, to escape the day, and wake up to do it all over again.
But deep down, there’s a secret I don’t like to admit—not even to myself sometimes. I long for someone. I want someone who will treat me like I’m special, who will look at me with eyes full of warmth and affection, someone who will hold me tight when the world feels too heavy. I crave the kind of love that makes me feel safe, like no matter what goes wrong in life, there’s someone who has my back.
I’ve convinced myself that I don’t need it, that I’m fine on my own, that I’m not looking. But sometimes, late at night, when I’m alone in my room, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I’m lying to myself. I’m not okay with being alone, and I want to believe that someone out there could be the person I’m waiting for. But reality always sets in, and I wonder if that person will ever actually show up.
What if I’m just one of those people who will never have that kind of love? The thought keeps me up at night. The idea that I might always be the one watching from the sidelines, never fully experiencing what it’s like to truly be cared for. I try to push it away, but it’s hard to ignore the pain of wanting something so much and feeling like it’s slipping further out of reach.
I try to tell myself that it’s okay, that I’m just not meant to have that right now. But in my heart, there’s this quiet, persistent ache. And sometimes, I wonder if it’s slowly killing me.
