no one left

Sometimes I get so crippled by all my what ifs.

When you decide to love someone new, all of those firsts are intoxicating and thrilling yet simultaneously horrifying. I crave physical intimacy, yet terrified that I won’t be able to open up enough to fully enjoy it.

What if parts of me turn them off? What if I don’t fuck them as good as all their exes did? What if I’m not what they imagined? What if I bore them?

What if I give this person a year or two of my life, and things fall apart? What will happen to me then? I feel like I’m reaching the end of my expiry date. I might go bad. Hell, I might already be rotten.

What if. What if. What if.

What if no one touches me again? What happens when you become unwanted? Undesirable? What does life look like then?

Is that why getting older makes everyone so fucking miserable? Because everything sweet in life dies, runs away, or becomes unattainable? The chance of heartbreak is nil—because there’s no one left to break it.