I feel like I keep going in circle. It never ends, they all look the same, same fat long big circles, which all present me the same end: they all love me until they actually have to start loving me for real.

They all stick around, promising me things using only words and not many actions. They love me. They say it over and over, they miss me, they need me, they like me. And I believe them. Every single time. I do.

I crave affection like nothing else, so I believe them. I trust them, I genuinely think they need me and they want me, and above all, that they love me. But as soon as I start introducing the subject, the truth, the fact that I genuinely love them, start something else, either a relationship or something more serious, or exclusive, they leave me.

When it comes to deciding that I am worth their love, their time, everything, they realize they never loved me.

I keep choosing them, then just never choose me. Either because their life is a mess, because they don’t know how to commit, or because I am not exactly who they were looking for, in the end, the only answer I’ve always got is that it’s not me who they want. Were those words all lies? How can it be? Every single time? Can I blame myself for all of this? Is it MY fault?

I never seem to be a first choice: I wasn’t my father’s, I wasn’t my friend’s, I wasn’t my boy’s. I just never am. I started thinking a few years ago that maybe some of us, on this planet are not worth anyone’s love. We just can’t be loved by anyone, except by ourselves.

I look at my girlfriends, being all happy, loved by these amazing guys that they all want me to meet, I look into their eyes and I see that sparkle that all the people I’ve ever picked never had. I see them hugging my friends, kissing them, loving them, and I keep wondering if will it ever actually be my turn someday.

I never had what they had, I’ve never been someone’s first choice, I’ve always been that choice they have to make for a temporary thing, or a long infinity fake affair.

I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I would have grown up when I was barley five, and I remembered answering “I want to be loved”. Twenty years later and it still hasn’t happened.

I don’t know if it’ll ever happen, I started to think that no, it won’t. I’ve put myself in that “will never be loved category” ages ago, accept it for a while, refused to for some other months, kinda dealing with it now.

I don’t know how it will end, but none of us do.