"I don't believe anyone can truly love me.
But Joss keeps trying anyway."

⸻

I woke up in a small rental room near the parking lot.
Lights off.
Window cracked.
The glow outside was pale and sterile, like rubbing alcohol.

I still had my pants on.
Couldn't remember much.
Just that I was a little drunk.
And someone brought me home.

Someone... no, not just someone — it was Joss.

I lifted a hand to my forehead.
A dull ache.
My neck felt cold.

I looked down — my jacket was gone.
Probably left it in the car.
Or... he took it with him.

I wasn't mad.
Just felt strangely empty.

⸻

I turned on my phone.
One unread message.
I didn't open it.

Scrolled down.

Joss's name was at the top.
No new texts.
No old ones, either.

I opened the chat.
My fingers typed:

[Thanks for last night.]

Then I stopped.
Stared at the words.
"Thanks."

It sounded weird.
I'd never "thanked" anyone for loving me.

I deleted it.
Turned the phone off.

⸻

I never really thought Joss would leave.

Not because I thought he was dumb.
Just... I'd gotten used to him being around.

He was like the shadow beside my bed every morning,
The umbrella handed to me without asking,
The coat I wore when drunk and left behind,
The person I knew — even if I didn't call — would show up.

I didn't love him.
I knew that.

But I didn't want to lose him either.

⸻

I didn't hate love.
I just didn't believe it was real.

I grew up in a house lit bright, but cold as ice.
My mother always dressed well to cook.
My father always came home on time.
Dinner was set with knives, forks, napkins, and three people sitting across from each other.

But no one ever looked at anyone.
No one talked.
No one touched.

I thought that was normal.

Until one day, my mother cried over the dishes.
And my father said:
"Just wait until the kid turns eighteen."

⸻

I didn't ask anything after that.
I understood.

I — the only child — was the last excuse they had to keep pretending.
I was the final reason they stayed together in a marriage long since dead.

That's when I learned:
Love was a play.
The better you played it, the less it hurt.
The colder you were, the longer you lasted.

⸻

But Joss was different.
He couldn't pretend.

Every time I brushed his hand away, he winced.
Every time I laughed empty, he frowned.

But he stayed.
Didn't ask for anything.
Didn't demand anything.

Just loved.
Just waited.
Just made me realize...

That I could hurt him anytime I wanted —
And he would let me.

⸻

I once asked him:

"Have you ever wanted to change me?"

He shook his head.
"No.
Because you've never wanted to be someone else."

I didn't respond to that.
But I remembered.

⸻

I walked to the usual café.
That thick espresso smell in the air.
I sat by the window.
The sunlight outside was soft.

I opened Instagram.
My latest photo was still up.
No marks.
No tags.
Just me.
Smiling.

I thought about deleting it.
Then changed my mind.

It's posted.
I don't take things down.
I don't fix mistakes.

I just... make them.
And keep going.

⸻

Joss sent me a photo of my jacket, still on the car seat.
No caption.
Just the image.

His hand was in the frame, gently holding the edge of the fabric — like it belonged to someone he was keeping something for, not something that once moaned his name in the dark.

I typed a reply:

[Keep it.]

Paused.

Deleted.

Typed again:

[Keep it. You're good at holding onto things no one else wants anyway.]

I hovered on send.

Then sighed.
Turned the screen off.

⸻

How do I live?

I don't believe.
I don't hold on.
I don't love.

I have hook-ups.
Drinking buddies.
People to take fake aesthetic photos with.

But only one person —
who still remembers I take my Americano iced, no sugar,
who still remembers I sleep on my left side,
who always leaves a clean towel on the chair, even when I never say when I'm coming over.

One person —
who doesn't love me to be loved back,
but loves me like...
just loving me is enough.

⸻

That night, I sat on my bed.
The pillow still smelled like his cologne.

I picked up my phone, turned on camera.
Switched to self-timer.
Left side angle.
No smile.

After the shutter clicked, I looked at the photo.
No edits.
No filter.

I sent it to Joss.

No caption.

Just a person —
still not brave enough to love,
but scared of being forgotten.

⸻