a hunger i refuse to feed

i’ve always been a romantic. i don’t mean the casual kind of romantic, the one who just likes candlelight or flowers or love songs on the radio. i mean the deep, hopeless, all-consuming kind. the type of person who has always believed love is sacred. who dreams of a relationship that feels like home, like finding your best friend for life.

but i stopped believing that love was meant for me.

maybe it’s because every time i’ve let someone close, they’ve let me down. maybe it’s because i’ve opened my heart too easily and watched people handle it carelessly, like it was just another thing they could pick up and put down. or maybe it’s because i’ve convinced myself that love is for other people - the people who get engaged, the people who celebrate anniversaries, the people who go on fun adventures together.

i’m 20 next month. i live with my university friends who are all in relationships, and it feels like there’s this constant inside joke i don’t get to be part of. they’ll swap stories about their partners, laugh about the quirks only couples understand, and i’m just… outside of it. it’s not even malicious, it’s just the reality: i’m single, and i always seem to be. and every time someone new comes into my life, i brace myself, because more often than not they end up proving me right - that people will do me wrong, that i can’t rely on them, that love isn’t safe for me.

so what do i do with all of that? i retreat. i stay to myself. i tell myself i’m better off alone.

and yet, here’s the paradox: i crave love with everything in me, but i don’t chase it. i want intimacy, but i don’t reach for it. i want the kind of partnership that makes everyday life feel lighter, but i live in a way that makes sure i never get it.

a lot of people will say, “well, if you’re lonely, why not just have fun? why not date casually, hook up, see where it goes?” and i get it. i understand why people say that. for some, casual sex fills the gap. it gives them a sense of closeness, even if only for a night. but for me? i can’t. i just can’t.

casual sex feels meaningless to me. i see it as messy, as something that always ends with one person heartbroken and the other person shrugging it off like nothing ever happened. to me, sex isn’t just bodies meeting. it’s sacred. it’s a kind of exchange that should be honoured, not used for lust or boredom or loneliness.

i’ve always seen intimacy as something that should carry weight, as something that deserves reverence. and because i feel that way, i can’t bring myself to do it casually. it feels like a betrayal of what i believe in.

sometimes i wonder if that makes me old-fashioned. maybe it makes me naive. maybe i’m just holding onto an ideal that no one else cares about anymore. but i know what feels right for me. and what feels right is saying no to anything that doesn’t feel real, anything that doesn’t feel true.

the problem is, when you cut casual sex out of the equation, and you also don’t pursue serious love, you end up with… nothing. you end up with a body that craves touch, a heart that craves connection, and no outlet for either.

loneliness is a strange kind of hunger. it’s not just about being by yourself - i can enjoy my own company. it’s about watching everyone else feast while you sit at an empty table.

my friends swap stories about their partners, share screenshots of sweet texts, plan trips with their boyfriends or girlfriends. i listen, i smile, i nod along, but inside, i feel the ache of absence. i feel the silence of my phone compared to theirs buzzing. i feel like the odd one out in a world designed for pairs.

sometimes it feels like the whole universe is in on a joke, and i’m the only one who wasn’t given the punchline.

there are nights when the loneliness feels heavier than others. when i walk into my room after a long day, and i know no one is waiting to ask how it went. when i scroll past endless photos of people kissing in front of sunsets or holding hands at concerts. when i hear my friends giggling in the kitchen while on the phone with their partners.

and i think: is it better to starve than to eat something that doesn’t nourish you? is it better to sit with emptiness than to fill it with something that leaves you emptier than before? for me, the answer has always been yes. but saying yes doesn’t make the hunger go away. it just means i sit with it, night after night, convincing myself it’s the lesser of two pains.

i’ve been let down so many times that i’ve started to believe it’s inevitable. i’ve given people my trust, only to have them throw it back at me. i’ve believed in words, only to see actions betray them. every heartbreak has left me with the same message: love isn’t safe.

so now, even when someone new appears, even when there’s a possibility of something more, i freeze. i can’t take them seriously. i can’t bring myself to imagine a future, because i’ve been through this loop too many times. the moment i let hope creep in, i know how easily it can be crushed. better to expect nothing than to build castles in the air and watch them collapse.

and yet, even as i tell myself i’m better off alone, some part of me is still whispering: you want this. you’ve always wanted this. it’s exhausting, holding both truths at once - the truth that love terrifies me, and the truth that i still ache for it.

when i think of love, i don’t imagine grand gestures or sweeping romances. i imagine something pure.

small acts. kindness in the everyday. someone who notices how i take my tea, someone who asks about my day not out of habit but out of care. love, for me, looks like laughing together over something silly, or sitting in silence without it being uncomfortable. it looks like friendship first, partnership second. it looks like safety.

i want love that feels like home, not like fireworks that burn bright and die quickly. i want the kind of love where i know i’m held, not because of what i can give, but simply because of who i am. and maybe that sounds idealistic. maybe it’s unrealistic. but that’s the vision that sits in my chest, the one i can’t quite let go of no matter how much evidence i’ve gathered that love isn’t for me.

so i’m a romantic who doesn’t do casual sex, who doesn’t chase love, but who craves it more than anything. i don’t have an easy resolution to this. i don’t have advice to give or lessons to tie it up neatly. i only have the honesty of where i am right now.

maybe this is a form of self-protection. maybe loneliness is teaching me something i can’t yet understand. maybe this is a season where i’m meant to be alone so i can grow, so i can heal, so i can meet myself in a deeper way.

or maybe it’s just fear. maybe i’m letting my past dictate my future. maybe i’m holding myself back from the very thing i was made for. i don’t know!

what i do know is that i want love. real, pure, steady love. and i also know that i’m too scared to go looking for it. so i stand here, in the paradox - rejecting the hollow, avoiding the hopeful, and wondering if love will ever find me anyway.