I donāt want a partner.
Not right now.
Not today.
Maybe not ever.
And that truth doesnāt always come with pride. Sometimes it comes with this quiet guilt. Like I should want someone. Like everyone around me is folding themselves into someone else's arms, and Iām just... sitting here. Folding laundry. Folding thoughts. Folding into myself.
Iāve spent years learning how to be okay alone. Not just the performative kind of alone, the āromanticize your solitudeā aesthetic. But the raw kind. The ugly kind. The kind where you carry your own grocery bags home and fix the bulb when it burns out and cry at the sink while washing dishes because thereās no one there to notice the tears.
I know how to do that now. And in some weird way, it makes me feel strong. Like Iāve unlocked something other people spend years avoiding.
And I hate how that still doesnāt save me from the occasional ache of wanting it anyway.
Because there are these moments, stupid little moments I canāt prepare for.
Like when Iām listening to a song and it hits that one note, that one line, and suddenly Iām aching for someoneās hand on my back. Not in a ārescue meā way. Just in a āhey, Iām hereā kind of way.
Or when I see someone resting their head on someoneās shoulder on the metro, and it looks so natural, it physically hurts. Or when Iām watching a show and I realize I have no one to turn to and say, āThatās literally us,ā even though itās not. Even though there is no āus.ā Like Iāve been walking around holding my own weight for so long, I forgot itās not supposed to always feel this heavy.
And then my mind starts spinning this whole fantasy. Not about a wedding or a house or any of those big, faraway things. But smaller things. Quieter things.
Like slow-dancing in the living room wearing mismatched socks. Laughing at something so dumb we canāt breathe. Sharing fries and secrets. Texting them something random just because it reminded me of them. Having someone who calls me out when Iām being passive-aggressive, but still hugs me after. Someone I could write entire books about, not because theyāre perfect, but because they feel like a plot twist and a safe place all at once.
And maybe itās not even about a partner. Maybe I just want to be seen. Picked. Chosen. Not as an afterthought. Not as a āyouāre so easy to talk toā placeholder. But as someoneās first choice. I want someone who wants to be obsessed with me. Mutually. Fully. Without making me feel like I have to shrink.
But then I catch myself. And I remind myself of the things Iāve learned the hard way.
That obsession fades. That attention doesnāt always mean care. That some people are just really good at starting things and bad at staying. That sometimes, being wanted isnāt the same as being loved. That sometimes youāre someoneās favorite distraction but never their actual choice.
So I go back to my own life. I fold my blankets. I make my own coffee. I walk myself home. I write myself out of longing and into peace.
Still, the thought lingers.
I donāt want a partner. I donāt.
But I do want someone to text me goodnight and mean it.
I want someone who makes me feel like Iām not too much when I overthink or cry during that one stupid episode Iāve seen a hundred times.
I want someone who doesnāt disappear when things get quiet, or messy, or real.
I want to talk to someone and not feel like Iām performing.
But maybe I donāt need a partner for that. Maybe I just need more people who are real. More conversations where I donāt leave feeling emptier than when I came in. Maybe I need to stop romanticizing the idea of being half of a whole and remember that Iām already whole, and that sometimes wholeness is lonely, but itās still mine.
So I donāt want a partner. I want peace. I want people who stay. I want laughter that doesnāt feel like effort.
And maybe one day, if someone comes along who feels like all of that, if someone makes me forget I ever needed to guard my softness, Iāll let them stay.
But I wonāt lose myself in wanting them.
Because Iāve built too much out of being alone to unbuild it for someone who might leave.
The yearning for partnership but with the solace of solitude - you captured this concept perfectly.
I'd rather be alone than deal with people with fickle emotions.
This is so beautiful - and heart wrenching - and raw - and honest. Heart wrenching because I too feel the same in so many ways. I am still learning to be ok being alone ... I often think it only feels hard because of 'societies expectations' - should I want to be alone ? Should I crave that aloneness like an ache in my soul ? - but equally I ache for the 'not alone' life too, just every once in a while - to feel loved, to feel I belong, to - as you so eloquently put it 'not have to carry my own weight' ! God yes, that weight can feel such a heavy load - but it is oh so beautiful too. Thank you for your words, honesty and wisdom - I am profoundly moved and feel seen šš»