Emotional Turmoil

I often wonder why me. It’s as if I feel I’m not enough, as if I’m not worthy of being the one you chose among everyone else that night.
 
Even so, I question whether that decision was a mistake—whether it came from boredom, whether there’s anything special about me at all.
 
For the past four months, I’ve given up everything for you. I neglected my work many times just to spend a few more minutes by your side, and I would come home at dawn with a naïve smile.
 
Your eyes, your laughter, your lips, your expressions, your hands, your ability to make me do whatever you said… I allowed myself to be blinded by beauty. Or at least that’s what I tell myself out loud every time I remember how I tolerated being humiliated by someone like you.
 
I sacrificed “the aesthetic over the emotional.” It’s absurd and completely understandable at the same time, but I struggle to comprehend how, after so much—and at the same time so little—it’s now impossible for me to feel close to others. I immediately think of you and wish it could always be you.
 
It’s illogical that more than once I saw someone else’s face in yours. And it’s ridiculous how something as simple as calling you “my love” made you love me with desperation—yet afterward, you were unable to call for weeks.
 
I wish I could forget you, lose you forever, and that none of this had happened this way. I long for your affection to be as real as your desire, but it’s irrational to ask for something like that.
 
I constantly question whether I’m truly in love or if this is just emotional turmoil—a confusing bond that terrifies me about adulthood. It’s illogical to think that you love me when we don’t really know each other and these past months have been merely lustful.
 
A waste of emotions: not being able to overflow with them and let you know how much you matter to me. But now I understand that it’s not the end of the world if you don’t love me back.

Photography by Pedro Saavedra Guzmán // Developed and scanned by Hilitos Lab