Quiet Hour

I don't know why I'm writing this 
Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real 
Maybe because I'm tired of pretending, I'm fine 
The truth is... I keep wondering what's wrong with me 
Not in the dramatic way people joke about 
but in the quiet, gnawing way that sits in my chest 
long after everyone else has gone home. 
Why do I fall so fast for the men who never stay? 
Why do I let myself believe them? 
Just because they smiled first, flirted first, 
opened the damn door first. 
He made me feel wanted. Needed. 
Not loved - I'm not that delusional, just wanted enough to hope. 
And I hate that about myself. 
I hate that a little attention can make me imagine a future 
he never intended to give. 
And then, like always, the shift. The distance. 
The soft landing he thinks is kindness: 
"You're a good person" 
As if that's supposed to make being rejected feel noble 
Here's the part I never say: 
When he says he can't be with me, I don't get angry at him 
No, I get angry at myself. i start scanning my reflection 
for the thing that makes me unpickable. 
The thing that makes me good enough to flirt with 
but not good enough to be chosen. 
I know it's not rational. But late at night 
when the house is quiet and my brain won't shut up 
I start to believe maybe I'm only lovable in theory. 
I'm scared there's something in me 
that makes men pull me close just long enough 
to remember they don't want to stay 
And I don't know how to stop wondering, 
What's wrong with me.