After Dean, came Daniel; the distraction I let linger

I wasn’t attracted to him at first, not in the way that stops you in your tracks.
He’s not tall, not broad, not the kind of man who turns heads in a crowded room.
Honestly, I gave him a chance out of curiosity, not desire.
He was only supposed to be a distraction, something temporary to pull me away from the heartbreak I was still bleeding through.

But then he touched me.
And everything changed.

There was something in the way he held me.
The way his hands moved with intention, not to take, but to connect.
It was like he knew what it felt like to be touched without meaning, and so when he touched me, it always meant something.
He wasn’t just passionate, he was present.
And when you’re starving for affection, even a moment of presence feels like a feast.

That’s what pulled me in.
Not his face. Not his body.
His energy. His warmth.
The long talks. The meaningful, mid day check ins. The updates he’d send just to show I was on his mind.
It started to feel like something real, something I didn’t expect to want.
And for a moment, I thought maybe it could turn into something.

Until he pulled back.

Another woman had come back into the picture.
He told me it was “family related” when he ended things, but I knew the truth.
And from that moment, something inside me shifted.
I knew if he ever came back, I could never truly give him my all again.
I couldn’t pour myself into something that would always come with conditions.

But of course… he did come back.
About a month later.
Not for my heart, just for access to my body.
And I agreed, because at that point, I only wanted access to his too.
Or at least that’s what I told myself.

But deep down, I was always curious if anything more could come from it.
Curious if he’d change. If we’d grow into something steadier.
Nine months passed.
And I found myself in a quiet war with my own mind, whether to stay and keep entertaining this cycle or finally let go and give myself the chance to heal for real.

He and I would go back and forth.
He didn’t want commitment, but he never truly wanted to let me go either.
And that kind of indecision, it messes with your heart.
It makes you question your worth, your sanity, your strength.

But I do know my worth.
And I know what’s best for me isn’t in the space between almost and not quite.
No matter how badly I crave his attention.
No matter how familiar his meaningless passion feels.

Because the truth is, I never loved him.
Not even close.
I loved the distraction.
The habit. The comfort dressed up like meaning.
He didn’t break me.
He barely knew me.
But somehow, I still let his absence echo longer than his presence ever stayed.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most
Not that it ended.
But that I stayed too long in something I never truly wanted in the first place.
That I mistook comfort for connection.

It wasn’t about love at first sight.
It was about comfort at first reach.
And sometimes, that’s even more dangerous.

Because now, even in his silence, my body remembers his touch.
But my soul remembers what it cost me.

A Realization

The truth is, I don’t think I ever wanted to be with him long term. I wanted to see where things could go, sure, but only because I liked the feeling of being wanted. I liked the attention, the presence, the way he touched me with intention.

But when I sit with it longer, I know something deeper: if the past had come back while I was seeing him, I probably would’ve chosen that. Without thinking. Because even though one made me feel good, the other made me feel everything.

So no, this pain isn’t about love. It’s about losing a moment where I felt chosen. It’s about not getting the closure I never wanted to ask for. And it’s about realizing that maybe, just maybe, I was only holding on to someone who gave me comfort in the absence of the man I really wanted.

That’s not love. That’s longing. And I’m finally starting to let it go.