When someone is giving you all their 100% of love,

it might only reach you as 10%—

not because they’re holding back,

but because sometimes love speaks in dialects

we don’t understand.

They could love you so hard their hands shake when they hold you,

love you so deeply they’d carve out pieces of themselves

just to keep you warm—

and yet you stand there,

cold in the spaces they can’t reach.

It’s not their fault. It’s not yours, either.

Love isn’t a formula where effort equals fulfillment.

Sometimes the love you need

wears a different skin, speaks a different tongue—

you crave softness and they give you steel,

you crave touch and they give you tasks,

you crave to be seen and they look at you

with eyes that can’t see the same shadows you carry.

And so you feel unloved,

when really you’re standing in a downpour

wishing it was sunlight instead.

And just because you can’t feel the warmth you want,

doesn’t mean the rain isn’t real.

Doesn’t mean they don’t love you

in the only way they know how—

a love you can’t hold,

a love that still tries to hold you.