Journal: Dating Again

Dating Again 

Every time I think about dating again—really dating, seriously trying—I stop myself and ask a question I already know the answer to: If he came back, if he called, if he said he wanted me again… would I leave?

And the answer is always yes.

That truth makes everything else feel dishonest. It makes every connection feel temporary, like I’m building something on ground I already know I’d abandon. It’s not fair to anyone else, and I know that. Because the reality is, they’re not being chosen fully—they’re just filling space. Placeholders in a life that still feels like it belongs to someone else.

I miss him in ways that catch me off guard. Not just the big things, but the small, human, everyday moments. His smile. The way he’d walk around the house completely unbothered, comfortable in his own skin. His goofiness—how he could be ridiculous and playful, and then suddenly turn around and be so put together, so dapper, so undeniably attractive. He’s a beautiful man, but more than that, his soul… his soul is what made everything feel alive.

With him, I wasn’t afraid of anything. Life didn’t feel overwhelming. Even the biggest challenges felt manageable, like I had a quiet strength beside me that made everything possible. And now… without him, even the smallest things can feel too heavy. Like I’ve lost the steady ground I used to stand on.

He was my quiet strength. My quiet resolve. The reason I kept moving forward, the reason I wanted to build something more, something better.

Now I’m left trying to figure out what I’m building for.

And if I’m honest, the only answer I can find is him.

Some part of me is still building a life in the hope that one day he might return. That somehow our paths will cross again. That I’ll get to see him, hear him, be with him again. And maybe that hope is the only thing still pushing me forward.

I don’t know if that’s enough. I don’t know if it’s healthy. But right now, it’s the truth.

I’m still building… just in case he comes back.

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