Sometimes her eyes are wide not from surprise, but from sadness. The face is fallen, and she looks up to keep the tear from dropping. She remembers how things were, and she knows the difference all too well between then and now. She remembers the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She remembers the way his eyes used to appreciate her. She remembers when she used to be the sunlight on his day. Now, she makes no difference. He pulls away and leaves her, distracted by a cornucopia of other things. She knows her touch is ineffectual, her pleading look is left unread. She sits alone in darkness, feeling the cold air swirl to replace the warmth he left behind. To anyone else, him included, nothing is wrong. No one remembers like her to notice the slip, the slide downwards. She’s sorry that she notices, but she’s scared to let the memories go. It’s not about living in the past, back when she felt important and meaningful. It’s about the fear of acquiescing to mediocrity when she knows better how it could be, how it once was. Love always seems to be the quest to find what was lost.

Sometimes what people are so quick to call insecurity isn’t being needlessly paranoid of losing someone because you fear you aren’t good enough to keep that person. Sometimes what it really is, is knowing that you’ve lost your favor with someone who hasn’t lost his hold on you.