Love is a tricky thing. You can have it, feel it, crave it, but when you’re faced with the terrifying possibility of losing it, that’s when you truly understand how much it means to you. When the question nags at the back of your mind—What happens if you leave?—that’s when the panic sets in. Because the truth is, you don’t always get the luxury of knowing where you’ll go or who you’ll be without it.
At first, it’s intoxicating. Love is like that high you can’t quite get enough of. You dive in, head first, caught in the feeling of "forever." The laughs, the late-night talks, the promises that are never meant to be broken. You think you’re untouchable, like this thing you have is too strong, too real to fall apart.
But then the cracks start to show. It might be subtle at first—a miscommunication, an argument, a moment where the connection feels a little too distant. And before you know it, that thought creeps in: What if you leave?
That question isn’t just a passing thought. It’s a seed that grows into a knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest that feels like it might suffocate you. You start imagining the empty space where they used to be. The bed will feel colder. The silence will stretch longer. And you’ll wonder how you ever let yourself get so close to someone, knowing the fragility of it all.
But it’s not just about losing them. It’s about losing yourself in the process. Because when they leave, it’s not just them who walks away. Something inside of you breaks too. The part of you that believed in forever, that believed love could withstand anything—that’s the part that shatters.
Where do I find someone to love me? That’s the real question. It’s not just about finding another face to smile at, another body to hold, it’s about finding a piece of yourself that you thought was gone. You thought they would be your home. You thought that together, you’d find a way to navigate the world. But now, they’re a stranger in your space, and you’re left asking, What now?
And here's the hardest part: No matter how much you beg the universe or pray for some miracle, you can’t make someone stay. You can’t force someone to love you the way you love them. They can walk out, and all the promises, all the memories, they vanish into thin air. And you’re left with the emptiness. The aching, gnawing emptiness that consumes you.
If they leave, what happens to you? Will you be okay? Will you find someone else? Will you ever feel the same again? The fear of the unknown, the fear of being unlovable, it gnaws at you in the quietest moments. It’s not just the idea of losing them—it’s the idea of being left with nothing, of having to rebuild when you don’t even know where to start.
And what about the pain? The regrets? The things you should’ve said, the chances you missed? The guilt that maybe, just maybe, you’re the reason they left in the first place. It’s the weight of knowing you could’ve been better, done better, loved harder. But now, it’s too late. They’re gone. And you’re standing there, trying to figure out how to breathe again.
But in the end, the question still lingers—What happens to me? You wonder if you’ll find someone who can fill that hole. Someone who can love you right. Someone who will stay. But the answer, the harsh truth, is that the void is never really filled. Not the way you want it to be. Love isn’t just a replacement. It’s not a checklist you can tick off and move on from. It’s something you carry, and when it’s gone, you have to learn how to live with the weight of it.
If they leave, you learn to survive. You find pieces of yourself that you forgot existed. You build yourself back up, one painful piece at a time. You become the person you were before they came into your life. And maybe, just maybe, you learn that you don’t need someone else to complete you. But in those early moments, when the pain is fresh and the loss feels unbearable, all you can ask is: What now?