I don’t think I believe in love anymore —
at least not in the way it once existed.
Not in its pure, unguarded form.

These days, love feels careful.
Calculated.
Wrapped in conditions and expectations,
like a delicate parcel tied too tightly with string.

It’s become a ledger of give and take —
affections weighed on silent scales,
tenderness traded for compliance,
reassurances bartered like fragile currency.

What once flowed so freely —
like water from a spring,
like laughter echoing down quiet hallways —
now comes with stipulations.
A delicate dance of who gives, who takes,
of how much is too much,
of whether your heart can afford the risk.

Every word is measured.
Every gesture dissected.
And love, it seems, has turned into a transaction
rather than the reckless, generous gift it used to be.

I find myself longing for the olden days —
for a time I may have never truly known,
but ache for all the same.

When love was simpler.
Whole.
When it didn’t come with hidden agendas
or silent scorecards,
or the gnawing fear of losing more than you gave.

“Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? ‘Cause I know that it’s delicate.”
— Taylor Swift, Delicate

Now, it feels so fragile —
a paper lantern in the rain,
its light flickering under the weight
of everything we’re too scared to let go.

-daisiesinmysoul