​Did i care?

You asked me if I ever cared.

I don’t know. Have I?

When I stayed up all night waiting for you to reply, did I? When I sent you a long text apologizing for a mistake you made, did I? When I called you the nicest person in front of everyone, even when we both knew that wasn’t true, did I? When you left and I still waited… did I?

Or was that not care?

Was it fear?

Was it the quiet panic of not wanting to be abandoned again? Was it the version of me that confuses love with endurance? Was it the part of me that thinks staying, no matter what, is proof of worth?

I keep asking myself.

Because if that was care, then why did it hurt so much? Why did it feel like shrinking? Why did it feel like I was disappearing piece by piece just to keep you comfortable?

When I swallowed my words so you wouldn’t feel challenged — was that love? When I blamed myself so you wouldn’t feel guilty — was that loyalty? When I bent until I barely recognized my own reflection — was that devotion?

Or was it me begging silently:

“Please don’t leave.”

Maybe I did care. But maybe I cared the way drowning people cling to anything that floats.

Not because it’s right. Not because it’s healthy. But because the thought of being alone felt worse.

And that’s the part that hurts to admit.

Because if it wasn’t pure love — if it was fear, insecurity, the need to be chosen — then what does that say about me?

Was I loving you?

Or was I trying to prove that I am lovable?

When you pulled away and I felt my stomach drop — was that heartbreak? Or was that my ego collapsing? When you didn’t reply and I couldn’t sleep — was that affection? Or was that addiction to validation?

I don’t know.

I only know that I waited. I only know that I excused things I shouldn’t have. I only know that I kept showing up even when I felt small.

If that isn’t care… what is it?

And if it is care… why does it feel like I betrayed myself in the process?

Maybe the real question isn’t whether I cared.

Maybe it’s:

Why did I care in a way that cost me my peace?

Why did I think love meant overextending? Why did I believe silence was maturity? Why did I think swallowing hurt made me strong?

You asked if I ever cared.

I think I did.

But I cared without boundaries. I cared without protection. I cared like someone afraid of losing more than someone secure in being loved.

And that’s not weakness.

It’s just unhealed.

When you left and I waited… yes, I cared.

But I also forgot to care about myself.

And that’s the part I’m still learning to forgive.

Because maybe the saddest truth isn’t that you didn’t stay.

It’s that I stayed longer than I should have.

Not because I was stupid.

But because I believed loving harder could fix what wasn’t mutual.

And now I’m here, asking myself if it was real.

Maybe it was.

But next time, I want care that doesn’t feel like self-erasure.

Next time, I want love that doesn’t require me to disappear to keep it alive.

And maybe… just maybe…

The fact that I’m finally questioning it means I’m starting to care about myself too.