I’ve mistaken obsession for love at the moments when what I felt wasn’t a calm warmth, but a grip.

It was when I:

Craved their attention more than their presence.

Measured my worth in how much they looked back at me.

Mistook anxiety for intensity, like the knot in my stomach meant it was real.

Wanted to be chosen more than I wanted to truly see them.

Obsession feels urgent. It burns fast, it consumes.

Love feels steady. It breathes with you, not against you.

I think the moment I realized it wasn’t love was when I noticed I loved the idea of being wanted more than the person themself.