the need to be yearned for

just some thoughts that have been in my mind lately

Recently, I’ve been thinking about my feelings—and, I guess, how I feel about them. I wrote a piece about feeling deeply about two weeks ago, and it really forced me to be extremely introspective and raw about how my emotional system, if you will, works. In writing that piece, I found that it allowed me to be so vulnerable with myself, to understand the depth of my emotion, and to realize that I am truly a yearner. I wrote about what it means to feel deeply, about how strongly I desire love and to be loved. But I don’t think I spoke about the need I have to be yearned for—I don’t think I was honest enough about how much that need consumes me.

How much I want to be desired.
To be wanted.
To be breathed in—seen as poetry.

With all its cadences and incomplete sentences. Some meant to be left for interpretation, some direct. To the point.

Of course, some poetry, when written, is immediately appreciated for its obvious beauty, whereas the beauty of others is not as obvious to those pursuing a surface-level enchantment—tucked away into the folds of time, possibly only to be discovered by one who will treasure its matured and obvious (to them) beauty with their entire life.

What ails me about this idea—what truly puts a pit in my stomach—is the thought that the more I am peeled back, the less I am wanted. The more my complexities are exposed, the less I am desired.

There is nothing I can do to make someone love me if I am being my 100% most authentic self. No picture I can take, no joke I can tell, no personality I can claim will make someone see me for who I am and decide that it is enough.

And perhaps the most painful thought—if my hair was loved, I could change the style and reclaim it. If my fashion was loved, I could wear new styles and reclaim them. But if a piece of myself was given, exposed, and loved—I'm not sure I could reclaim that. I think that maybe I have lost that piece of myself forever.

When will I be wanted to the point where a song is heard and I am thought of? When will I be watched in admiration? When will I no longer be looked at with lustful eyes, but with eyes that desire to breathe in my every imperfection and lie with my thoughts?

Perhaps it’s my fault that I’ve put this pressure on whoever is out there for me. But if I do the same—if I choose to see the people I love with admiration—why isn’t the same out there for me?

This leads me to another doubt I often feel: that I must do something to be loved or desired. I think I’ve been conditioned—by my environment, by the people in it—to believe that I must earn love, that I must be admired to be worthy of it. I never feel like I’ve accomplished something because, in my mind, all I’ve ever done is what was expected of me. And I think I feel that way about love, too—that love is expected from me, but I should never expect it for myself.

I guess I live in contradiction: to be loved, I must perform. But to be truly loved, I must be my full, authentic self.

I must admit—that terrifies the hell out of me.

I believe I’m made beautifully, intricately. But do I need to convince someone of that? Or do I let the delicate layers of myself be seen, and, more often than not, get cast aside? Played with?

It slightly hurts my heart to think that, in order for the possibility of me being loved to exist, I must sit with the pain of knowing that I will always need to sacrifice something in order to be my most authentic self. From that, I’ll go through many heartbreaks and lose little bits of myself, all for the chance to find someone who won’t just desire me, but yearn for me.

I know I must find someone who doesn’t complete me, but complements me. But in order for flavors to come together, each bowl must give a bit of itself for the sake of testing—and at one point, the bowl may run empty.