There is a particular kind of pain that doesn’t get named often.
It’s quiet. Lingering. Hard to explain without feeling embarrassed or dramatic.

It’s the pain of being desired, but not loved.

I’ve spent much of my life feeling wanted—sexually, physically, temporarily. People have been drawn to my body, my energy, my warmth. I’ve been flirted with, fantasized about, touched, and admired. And yet, when it came time for depth, for consistency, for choosing me fully—there was often a silence where commitment should have been.

Being desired can look like power from the outside.
But being desired without being loved feels like being consumed without being kept.

Desire without devotion is a hollow thing

Desire is immediate.
Love is intentional.

Desire wants access.
Love wants responsibility.

Desire says “I want you right now.”
Love says “I choose you again tomorrow.”

When desire isn’t paired with love, it can start to feel transactional. Like my body is exciting, but my heart is inconvenient. Like I’m welcomed in moments, but not invited into futures. Over time, that does something to a person. It makes you question whether you’re only valuable in fragments.

The grief no one prepares you for

There is grief in realizing that people are willing to touch you but not tend to you.
That they’ll undress you but not know you.
That they’ll crave you but won’t commit to you.

This grief doesn’t always come with tears. Sometimes it shows up as numbness. Or hyper-independence. Or oversexualization. Or a quiet belief that love must always be earned through performance.

And if you’re someone who feels deeply, who loves earnestly, who hopes sincerely—this wound cuts even deeper.

This is not a personal failure

I want to say this clearly, because it matters:

Being desired but not loved does not mean you are unlovable.

It often means you live in a world that is very comfortable taking from people it is not prepared to care for. A world that encourages consumption over connection. A world where intimacy is cheapened, but commitment is withheld.

Many people want closeness without accountability. Pleasure without vulnerability. Access without responsibility. That is not love’s fault—and it is not yours.

What I’m learning now

I’m learning that love doesn’t have to be convinced into existence.
It doesn’t need to be chased, negotiated, or auditioned for.

Love moves toward you.
Love shows up again.
Love is steady.

I’m learning that my softness is not a liability—it just needs protection. That my desire to be chosen is not desperate; it’s human. And that wanting commitment doesn’t make me rigid or boring or demanding. It makes me honest.

Choosing myself, even when it hurts

There are moments when being desired feels easier than being alone.
But I’m learning that scraps of attention cannot heal a hunger for devotion.

So now, I’m choosing to pause. To listen to my body. To honor the part of me that wants more than momentary closeness. I’m choosing to believe that being fully loved is not something I have to contort myself to earn.

And even on the days when that belief feels fragile, I am holding it gently—like a seed.

Because I don’t want to be unforgettable only in bed.
I want to be chosen in daylight.
I want to be loved out loud.

And I’m finally allowing myself to want that without shame.