objects in the mirror

not quite as close as they appear

You don’t do well with closeness.

Not in the way people expect, at least.

Yes, you like people.

You enjoy deep conversations.

You love inside jokes.

You’re happy to have the comfort of knowing that you have someone that is just a call away if you ever need them.

(Even though you actually never plan to call.)

You love closeness and you love being close.

Until…

Until it’s “too much”.

Then it becomes a problem for you.

“Too much” is when this closeness comes with expectations. And vulnerability. And responsibility.

When it comes with no easy escape.

That’s when you panic and you pull away.

It’s not that you don’t want connection.

Of course, you do.

Just like 8 billion other people, emotional intimacy is one of your innate desires.

It’s just that every time you get too close, something in you hesitates.

A voice in your head whispers, “Are you sure?”

Are you sure they won’t change?

Are you sure this won’t hurt later?

Are you sure you won’t disappoint them?

So you stay where it feels safe.

You stay where you’re close enough to care, but distant enough to leave if you need to.

When you need to.

You don’t always keep your distance by running.

You have other ways too.

Sometimes you stall regular communication and blame it on “bad texting”.

Sometimes you claim you’ve been wanting “check up” on them, but you never made any real attempts to.

Sometimes you ensure that you remain the friend who never needs anything from them.

Because needing means depending.

And depending means attachment.

And attachment means risk.

And risk means danger.

And danger means pain.

You don’t want pain.

No, you don’t.

Not again.

So you master the art of disappearing without ever really leaving.

You master how to be present without being there.

It’s in the missed calls you never returned.

It’s in the plans you cancelled and promised yourself you’d reschedule.

It’s in the messages you typed and deleted because “what is even the point?”

It’s in all the little things.

You are so good at leaving; you don’t even need to go.

And the worst part?

The worst part is that you know you do it.

Sometimes, you hate that you do it.

You hate that it pushes the people you truly care about away.

That’s when you want to fix it.

You want to say, “Wait, I care. I promise I care.”

You want to show in your actions that you do.

But the words don’t come, and the actions never last.

You try, genuinely, you do.

But you can’t help but just keep people “close enough”.

So they remain in your life, but not quite in your heart.

They remain close, but not close enough to hurt.

They are there, but not really there.

It’s safer that way.

And it works.

It really works for you.

Until it doesn’t.

Until you realise that in trying to protect yourself, you’ve shut yourself out the very thing you truly crave—

Connection.

A real connection.

The kind that doesn’t flinch at vulnerability.

The kind that doesn’t hurt every single time.

The kind that doesn’t exist only in a mirror.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all your hesitation really is—

It’s a reflection.

A reflection of all your past hurt and shame and insecurities staring back at you.

Forcing you to only accept a version of connection that feels real but never quite reaches you.

You see the warmth, the intimacy, the possibility of closeness.

Your friends offer it. Your family offers it. He/she offers it.

But there’s always something between you and truly accepting it.

It’s like a glass, solid and unyielding.

You can’t get through it.

So you press your hand against it and watch.

You watch the deep connection you desire through the window.

While the shallow connection you know how to give stares back at you.

Love has become like an object in the mirror.

Always there, always within sight, but for you, never as close as it appears.

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