I wonder if anyone has ever loved me simply for being me. Not for what I could give them. Not for the way I made them feel. Not for the comfort of my presence when they were lonely. Just me. My messy, unpolished, unfiltered self. The quiet parts. The broken parts. The version that doesn't try to perform, doesn't try to entertain, doesn't change to fit in. Because sometimes I fear that people fall in love with the idea of me, not the reality. And it makes me ache, because I don't want to be someone's almost or someone's convenience. I just want to know if I've ever been enough on my own.