The Space Between Us Feels Like an Ocean

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. "If you're embarrassed or ashamed to be involved with me in any way, we can just… not see each other." Saying it out loud felt like admitting a truth I’d been desperately trying to ignore. A truth that, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, I already knew.

It stings, doesn’t it? To feel like a secret. A part of someone’s life that needs to be carefully curated, hidden away when the "right" people are around. It’s in the subtle hesitations when your friends' names come up. It’s in the carefully orchestrated visits, timed perfectly to avoid any accidental encounters with roommates. It’s in the way you politely decline invitations to meet the people who make up my world.

And the worst part? The insidious little voice in my head that whispers, "It's your fault." I find myself replaying every interaction, every perceived flaw, every way I might not measure up to some invisible standard. I dissect myself, searching for the reason why I’m deemed worthy of stolen moments but not of open acknowledgment.

It feels like I’m only a particular fragment of the kind of person you think you should be dating. A convenient piece to slot into your life when it suits you, but not the whole picture you’re willing to present to the world.

The truth is, it’s exhausting. This constant awareness of my own perceived inadequacy in your eyes. This feeling of being tucked away, like a delicate item that might break if exposed to the light.

I deserve to be seen. All of me. The messy parts, the enthusiastic parts, the parts that my friends know and love. And you deserve to be with someone who is proud to have me by their side, just as I am proud to care about you.

Maybe the space between us feels like an ocean because one of us is building walls while the other is reaching across the water, hoping to find solid ground. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to acknowledge that some oceans are too vast to cross alone.