Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?

Are my honesty and sensitivity too much for you to hold on to?

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Humiliating. Not the crying. Not the confrontation. The real humiliation is noticing the shift before anyone else does. A tone turns flat. A word loses warmth. A message sounds like it was typed with eyes half-closed.

You feel it in your chest first — a quiet jolt, a sick sort of knowing — when someone who used to be soft with you starts sounding like they’re just ticking boxes.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter. Just a text. Just a word. Just a pause too long. But for someone like me, it always matters. Because I see patterns before people confess them. I feel the temperature drop long before I’m handed a coat. And no, I won’t ask for one.

That’s just not me.

I try to keep it to myself, hold the ache in my hands like something sacred, but it leaks out in small ways.

In short replies. Tired eyes. A sigh I didn’t mean to let them hear.

And when I finally slip — carefully, not to accuse, just to be honest — I’m told to calm down.

That there’s no issue.