I keep asking myself this question that I don’t really want the answer to.
If he were the right one for me… would I hesitate this much?

Because I do like him.
I like being around him.
I like the way he makes me feel when we’re together, how easy it is to laugh, how comfortable it feels to just exist in the same space. There are moments when I look at him and think, this could be something real. There are moments when the feeling rises in my chest so naturally that it almost feels like love.

But then he leaves.
He goes home, back into his own world, back into his routine.
And the feeling fades. Not completely, not in a dramatic way, but enough to make me question it. Enough to make me wonder if what I feel is love… or just comfort in the moment.

That’s the part that makes me question everything.

Because I know what love feels like.
I’ve loved someone before in a way that changed me. In a way that consumed me. In a way that made me certain without hesitation, without doubt, without this constant back-and-forth in my head. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. I didn’t have to question it every time I walked out the door. I carried it with me everywhere.

And sometimes I wonder if that kind of love only happens once.
If maybe I already felt the biggest love of my life… and everything after it will always feel smaller in comparison.

That thought terrifies me more than anything.

Because what if I’m holding everyone else up against a love that can’t be recreated?
What if I’m waiting to feel that exact intensity again, when love is supposed to look different the second time around? Softer. Calmer. Less chaotic. Less consuming.

Or what if this hesitation is my answer?

Sometimes I catch myself picking fights with him.
Petty fights. Toxic fights. Fights about other girls, about things that don’t even really matter. And if I’m being honest, it’s not because I truly care about those things. It’s because something inside of me is unsettled, and instead of sitting with that feeling, I throw it at him. I create chaos where there should be calm.

Not because I want to hurt him.
But because I’m afraid.

Afraid of falling into something that isn’t right.
Afraid of choosing someone and realizing later that I forced it.
Afraid of settling for a feeling that only exists in moments instead of something that lives in my bones.

I don’t want to pretend.
I don’t want to convince myself.
I don’t want to stay somewhere just because it’s comfortable or convenient or because someone is willing to love me.

I want certainty.
Not perfection.
Not fireworks every day.
Just a quiet knowing in my chest that says, this is it.

And until I feel that…
I think the hesitation will always be there.

Not because he’s a bad person.
Not because I don’t care.
But because love, the kind I once knew, never made me question whether it was real.