- On the longing for a love that feels as beautiful in real life as it sounds in songs.
Omo, this song has me in my feelings which is waf by Fola.
Not because it reminds me of someone, exactly, but because it makes me realise how badly I want to have someone to associate a song with. Someone whose face comes to mind when the lyrics start playing. Someone I can send it to and say, “This reminds me of us,” without wondering whether they feel the same way. Someone who listens to the song and smiles because, somehow, it reminds them of me too.
It is strange how quickly a song can expose a desire you have been trying not to name.
One minute, you are going about your day. The next, you are imagining what it would feel like to be loved so intentionally that the little things become your favourite parts of being with someone. You start thinking about random Tuesdays, long conversations, thoughtful gestures, spontaneous dates, forehead kisses, being held a little longer than usual, and the kind of closeness that makes ordinary life feel a little more beautiful.
And suddenly, you are forced to admit something you have been trying to make sound less important.
I want to experience love.
Not just the idea of it. Not the aesthetics, the pictures, the public declarations, or the occasional romantic gestures that look beautiful when other people are watching. I want the actual experience of being loved. I want to know what it feels like to have someone who genuinely wants to make me happy, someone who pays attention to the things that matter to me, someone who remembers the little details I mention in passing, and someone who does not need me to repeatedly explain why I deserve to be treated with care.
I want the kind of love that makes me understand why people look at their partners and smile for no reason. The kind that makes a random Tuesday feel special because you get to spend part of it with someone you love. The kind that makes you excited to tell someone about the most insignificant thing that happened during your day because, somehow, telling them makes the experience better.
I want to have inside jokes that would make absolutely no sense to anyone else. I want to be able to look at someone across a room and know exactly what they are thinking. I want the silly conversations, the playful arguments over nothing, the random pictures, the good morning texts that feel like more than a routine, and the little moments that nobody else would consider special but somehow become precious to us.
I want to know what it feels like to be someone’s favourite person in the most ordinary ways.
And honestly? I do not even know how to explain wanting that without feeling a little vulnerable.
Because, God, I want to be loved.
But I am not saying that because I cannot live without a man.
I know I can.
I know how to figure things out. I know how to keep going when life gets difficult. I know how to encourage myself when things do not work out the way I planned. I know how to make decisions for myself, pick up the pieces, and keep moving even when I wish things were easier.
But sometimes, I do not want to have to figure everything out alone.
And I think that is the part people do not always understand.
There is a difference between being capable of doing life alone and wanting to do life alone. There is a difference between being independent and pretending you have no desire to be cared for. And there is a difference between knowing your worth and convincing yourself that wanting to experience romantic love somehow makes you less valuable.
Somehow, we have reached a point where admitting that you want love can feel like admitting weakness. You have to be careful about how you express your feelings because someone might think you are desperate. You have to act as though you are perfectly content with never being chosen, never being pursued, never being held, and never having someone to share the little things with.
You must appear so unbothered that nobody can tell you have a heart that occasionally aches for something tender.
And I understand why people do it. Sometimes, you learn to downplay your desires because you have seen what happens when the wrong person discovers just how much you want to be loved. You learn to act like you do not care because caring has made you vulnerable before. You learn to expect less because disappointment becomes easier to manage when you have already convinced yourself not to hope for much.
But I do not want to spend my life pretending I do not want something simply because wanting it could hurt me.
I want to be able to say that I want love without feeling the need to defend myself.
I want to admit that I want romance, affection, consistency, thoughtfulness, and a connection that feels real. I want to be excited about the possibility of meeting someone who makes me look forward to things I have never experienced before. I want to be able to talk about the kind of relationship I dream of without someone assuming I have nothing else going on in my life.
Because I do have a life.
I have dreams I want to fulfil, places I want to visit, money I want to make, things I want to learn, and a version of myself I am still working towards. There are so many things I want to do for myself, so many ways I want to grow, and so many experiences I want to have.
Love is not the only thing I want from life.
But it is one of the things I want to experience.
And I do not think those two truths should have to compete with each other.
I can want a beautiful life of my own and still want someone beautiful to share it with.
I can enjoy my solitude and still look forward to companionship. I can pay my own bills and still appreciate a man who wants to make life easier for me. I can make my own decisions and still enjoy being considered. I can be strong enough to carry myself and still melt a little when someone notices that I am tired and offers to carry something for me.
I do not need to be helpless to appreciate being helped.
I do not need to be broke to appreciate generosity.
I do not need to be falling apart to appreciate being cared for.
And I do not need to be lonely every day to admit that I sometimes wish I had someone to come home to, someone to tell about my day, or someone whose presence makes a difficult week feel a little less heavy.
Sometimes, I simply want to be somebody’s girl.
Not in a way that takes me away from myself, but in a way that allows me to experience a side of life I have not fully experienced yet. I want to know what it feels like to be loved without constantly questioning whether I am asking for too much. I want to be with someone whose affection does not leave me confused, whose intentions do not feel like a guessing game, and whose presence does not make me feel lonelier than I felt before they came into my life.
I want a love that does not require me to keep auditioning for the role of someone worth choosing.
And maybe that is what makes the desire so complicated.
Because wanting love is one thing. Wanting it after you have seen how badly people can hurt each other is another.
You begin to understand that love is not always as beautiful as it sounds in songs. Sometimes, the same person who makes your heart race is the person who leaves you staring at your phone, wondering what changed. Sometimes, the person you are willing to make sacrifices for is unwilling to make even the smallest adjustment for you. Sometimes, you find yourself explaining basic consideration to someone who claims to love you, and you start wondering whether your expectations are unreasonable or whether you have simply been asking the wrong person.
Sometimes, you love someone and still feel alone.
And that is a particularly painful kind of loneliness because, technically, you are not alone. You have someone. You have a title, a relationship, memories, and perhaps even promises about the future. But somehow, the very things that should make you feel connected begin to remind you of how disconnected you have become.
You can be in a relationship and still wonder whether you are genuinely wanted.
You can be someone’s partner and still feel like you are asking for permission to occupy space in their life.
You can love someone deeply and still have to remind yourself that love should not be the reason you abandon your own needs.
I think this is why some people become afraid of wanting love. It is not always because they have stopped believing in it. Sometimes, they have simply become familiar with the cost of wanting it from someone who cannot or will not love them in the way they need.
They have seen how easily affection can become inconsistent, how quickly promises can lose their meaning, and how exhausting it can be to keep trying to convince someone to meet them halfway.
So they protect themselves.
They say they are done with relationships. They laugh when people ask about their love life. They pretend romantic gestures do not matter to them. They convince themselves that they are better off alone, and perhaps, for a while, they genuinely are.
But I wonder how many people have confused being afraid of disappointment with no longer wanting love.
How many people have buried their desire for tenderness because they are afraid that admitting it would make them vulnerable again?
How many people have told themselves they do not care when, deep down, they still hope to meet someone who changes the way they see love?
I do not think we talk enough about the courage it takes to remain open to something that has the power to hurt us.
It is easy to become cynical. It is easy to look at other people’s experiences and decide that love is not worth the trouble. It is easy to make a joke out of romance, to dismiss every grand gesture as manipulation, or to assume that anyone who expresses affection must have an ulterior motive.
And sometimes, caution is necessary. Not everyone who says they love you knows how to treat you well. Not everyone who wants access to your heart has the capacity to care for it. Words can be beautiful while someone’s actions tell a completely different story.
But I do not want the existence of bad love to convince me that good love is impossible.
I do not want the relationships that failed, the people who disappointed me, or the stories I have heard from others to make me ashamed of the kind of love I still hope to experience.
I want to believe that tenderness can exist without manipulation. That commitment can exist without control. That two people can love each other without turning the relationship into a competition over who cares less. That someone can be emotionally mature enough to communicate honestly, apologise when they are wrong, and make an effort without needing to be threatened with losing the relationship first.
I want to believe that love can be soft without being weak.
That it can be passionate without being chaotic.
That it can be exciting without being confusing.
That it can be secure without becoming boring.
And that two people can choose each other without either person having to lose themselves in the process.
Maybe I have watched too many romantic scenes. Maybe listening to certain songs makes me imagine things I cannot yet explain. Maybe there is a part of me that wants to experience the kind of romance that makes even the most ordinary moments feel like something worth remembering.
But what if that is not a terrible thing?
What if wanting a love that feels beautiful is not the same as expecting a perfect relationship?
I know that real love will have difficult days. I know that even the most compatible people will misunderstand each other sometimes. There will be disagreements, tired evenings, responsibilities, changing circumstances, and moments when loving each other requires more than a sweet text or an expensive date.
I am not expecting someone to make every day magical.
I am hoping for someone who understands that love is not only about how you make a person feel when everything is going well. It is also about how you treat them when life becomes inconvenient.
Can we still be kind when we disagree?
Can we communicate when something feels wrong instead of using silence as punishment?
Can we make room for each other’s feelings without treating every difficult conversation as an attack?
Can we celebrate each other’s growth without becoming threatened by it?
Can we learn how to love each other better as we learn more about who we are?
Can we have a difficult season without making each other feel like the relationship itself is a burden?
These are the things I think about when I say I want something real.
Because, yes, I want flowers. I want dates. I want spontaneous gifts and thoughtful surprises. I want someone who remembers the little things I like and occasionally does something simply because it would make me smile.
I want the romance.
But I also want the friendship underneath it.
I want to be able to laugh with my partner until my stomach hurts. I want to feel safe enough to tell the truth about my fears, even the ones I struggle to explain. I want to be able to have a bad day without feeling the pressure to be the most pleasant version of myself just to remain lovable.
I want to be known beyond the version of me that looks good in pictures, says the right things, makes people laugh, and appears to have everything figured out.
I want someone who is curious about the person I am becoming. Someone who wants to understand how I think, what makes me happy, what makes me anxious, and what I hope to build with my life.
I want to know them that way too.
I want to learn the little things about them. The things that make them laugh when they are trying to be serious. The things they worry about but rarely say aloud. The dreams they have not yet found the courage to pursue. The experiences that shaped the way they see the world.
I want us to become familiar with each other in a way that makes love feel less like a performance and more like a place where we can both be human.
And maybe that is what I am really longing for.
Not a relationship that looks perfect from the outside, but one that feels good to live inside.
A love that is not only beautiful when it is being displayed, but beautiful in the way it is practised. In the patience, the listening, the follow-through, the willingness to understand, and the quiet decision to consider another person’s feelings even when nobody is watching.
A love where I do not have to wonder whether I matter.
A love where I can be affectionate without feeling foolish for caring more openly. Where I can express my needs without being made to feel demanding. Where I can ask questions without being treated like I am looking for problems. Where I can be honest about what hurts me without having to prepare myself for punishment.
I want a love that respects me.
And when I say respect, I mean more than being spoken to politely. I mean being treated as a person whose feelings, time, boundaries, and individuality matter. I mean being able to disagree without being insulted. I mean knowing that my vulnerability will not become ammunition the next time we have an argument.
I want a love that considers me.
Not because I expect someone to read my mind, but because I believe that paying attention is part of caring. I want to be with someone who is willing to learn me, just as I am willing to learn them. Someone who understands that love cannot survive on assumptions alone, and that sometimes the smallest act of consideration can communicate something words struggle to express.
I want a love that shows up.
Not necessarily in grand ways every single time, but consistently enough that I am not left trying to build an entire relationship out of occasional moments of affection.
I want to experience the peace of knowing that someone’s feelings for me are not dependent on whether I am currently convenient to love.
And yes, I want to be spoiled sometimes. I want to be taken out, surprised, pampered, and reminded that someone enjoys making me happy. I want to receive thoughtful things without feeling guilty for appreciating them. I want to experience generosity that comes from genuine affection, not from a desire to control me or make me feel indebted.
But I want to give those things too, in the ways that are meaningful and possible for me.
I want my partner to feel considered, appreciated, supported, and loved. I want to celebrate their wins, encourage them when they doubt themselves, listen when they need to talk, and make room for the person they are outside our relationship.
I do not want a love where one person is constantly pouring while the other simply receives.
I want mutual effort. Mutual tenderness. Mutual accountability. Two people who understand that being loved is a beautiful thing, but loving someone well is also a responsibility.
Because the truth is, I do not just want to find someone who knows how to love me.
I want to become someone who knows how to love another person without losing herself in the process.
And perhaps that is where the real work begins.
It is one thing to dream about being loved. It is another to recognise the kind of relationship you are willing to build, the habits you need to unlearn, the conversations you need to have, and the boundaries you need to maintain to protect the people you both are becoming.
I cannot ask for honest communication while refusing to communicate honestly myself. I cannot expect someone to respect my boundaries while ignoring theirs. I cannot demand emotional maturity and refuse to take responsibility for my own reactions.
Love asks something of both people.
It asks us to be honest about our intentions, accountable for our actions, and willing to grow beyond the versions of ourselves that make healthy connection difficult.
It asks us to understand that another person is not responsible for healing every wound we carry, even though their kindness may make healing feel a little less lonely.
And it asks us to remember that love is not a prize we win by suffering enough.
We do not have to prove that we are worthy of care by tolerating neglect. We do not have to demonstrate loyalty by remaining in situations that repeatedly diminish us. We do not have to accept confusion as the price of passion or emotional exhaustion as evidence that a relationship means something.
Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do for ourselves is admit that we want someone and still recognise when that person is not right for us.
That is a difficult kind of honesty.
Especially when you have imagined a future with them. Especially when there are memories you wish you could return to. Especially when the relationship has given you just enough happiness to make you keep hoping that the painful parts will eventually change.
But wanting love does not mean you have to accept every version of it.
You can want someone deeply and still acknowledge that they are not meeting you where you need to be met. You can appreciate the good moments and still decide that the relationship is not good for you. You can miss someone and still know that going back would cost you too much.
You can be grateful for what a person taught you without needing them to remain in your life.
And you can continue to desire love without allowing the absence of it to become a judgement on your worth.
I think that last part is important.
Because sometimes, when you have been waiting for a certain kind of love, you begin to wonder whether there is something about you that makes it difficult to find. You watch people around you enter relationships, get engaged, build homes, and share beautiful moments with their partners, and even when you are genuinely happy for them, you may occasionally find yourself asking when it will be your turn.
You begin to measure time differently.
You wonder whether you are asking for too much. Whether you should be more flexible. Whether your standards are protecting you or keeping you from experiencing something good. Whether you have become too independent, too guarded, too particular, or simply too used to doing things your own way.
And the questions can become exhausting.
But another person’s timeline is not evidence that you are behind in your own life.
Someone else’s relationship is not proof that you have been forgotten.
And being single does not mean you are waiting for your life to begin.
There is a life happening right now. There are friendships to nurture, experiences to collect, dreams to pursue, and parts of yourself to discover. There are beautiful things you can do without waiting for someone to hold your hand through them.
I want to remember that, even while I admit that I want love.
I want to enjoy the life I have without pretending it contains everything I desire. I want to celebrate my independence without turning it into a wall that keeps every possibility away. I want to grow into the person I hope to become, and if love finds me along the way, I want to be open enough to recognise it.
Not because I need someone to complete me.
But because I think there is something beautiful about two people who have lives of their own deciding to make room for each other.
Two people who could continue on their separate paths but choose to walk together because the companionship, the connection, and the love they share make the journey richer.
There is something beautiful about being chosen by someone who sees you clearly. Someone who knows you are not perfect, who understands that you have your own fears and difficult days, and who still wants to learn how to build something meaningful with you.
Not someone who stays because leaving would be inconvenient.
Not someone who stays because you have made yourself so small that loving you requires nothing of them.
Someone who stays because they want to.
And that brings me to something I have been thinking about.
I want a love that I am scared to leave.
Now, before anyone misunderstands me, I do not mean a love that frightens me, controls me, or makes me feel like my life would be over if the relationship ended. I do not mean a love that traps me through fear, financial dependence, manipulation, or the belief that I will never find anyone else.
I mean a love so meaningful that the thought of losing what we have would genuinely hurt because it is something I value.
A love where leaving is a choice I am free to make, not an escape I am desperate to find.
I want to love someone whose presence adds so much tenderness, laughter, friendship, understanding, and meaning to my life that I would not walk away casually. I want to build something with someone that we both care enough about to protect, nurture, and fight for when things become difficult.
I want us to have something worth working through.
Something worth the uncomfortable conversations, the apologies, the adjustments, and the effort it takes to understand each other more deeply.
I want to know that when life becomes hard, we will not immediately treat each other as the enemy. That we will remember we are two people trying to solve a problem, not two opponents trying to prove who is right.
I want a love that makes staying feel worthwhile.
But I also want the wisdom to know that not every relationship can be saved by how badly we want it to work.
Sometimes, love is real, but the relationship is no longer healthy. Sometimes, people care about each other but cannot build the kind of life they both need. Sometimes, the right decision is still painful, and choosing yourself does not mean you never loved the other person.
So when I say I want a love that I am scared to leave, I mean I want a love I have good reasons to stay in.
A love where I am not constantly negotiating for the bare minimum. A love where my peace is not the price of keeping someone. A love where choosing to stay feels like an expression of happiness, not an admission of defeat.
I want to look at someone and know that I am there because I want them, not because I am afraid of being alone.
And I want them to be able to say the same about me.
Maybe that is the kind of love I keep imagining when I listen to songs like this one. A love that makes the world feel a little softer without pretending the world is always kind. A love that gives you something to look forward to, something to laugh about, someone to share the little things with.
A love that becomes part of your everyday life, not because every day is extraordinary, but because you have found someone with whom the ordinary feels worth sharing.
Maybe I want to know what it feels like to be so genuinely happy with someone that a song can make me smile because it reminds me of a moment we shared.
Maybe I want to experience the sweetness of hearing a lyric and thinking, That is exactly how this person makes me feel.
Maybe I want to send someone a song without having to wonder whether I am the only one attaching meaning to it.
Maybe I want to be able to love openly, to express affection without feeling like I am giving someone too much power over me, and to enjoy the beautiful parts of romance without constantly preparing myself for the day they might disappear.
I want to be present enough to enjoy love while it is happening.
I do not want to spend an entire relationship worrying about its ending. I do not want past experiences to make me suspicious of every good thing. I do not want to be so busy protecting myself from heartbreak that I forget to appreciate the person who is genuinely trying to love me well.
Of course, I want to be careful. I want to pay attention to actions, patterns, and the way someone treats me when they are upset or disappointed. I want to be wise about who I allow close to me.
But I also want to remember that being careful does not mean I have to be emotionally unavailable.
I can take my time and still be excited.
I can have boundaries and still be affectionate.
I can be discerning and still be hopeful.
I can understand that love comes with risks without convincing myself that every risk is a warning to run.
Because I do not want to look back one day and realise that I spent so much time trying not to get hurt that I never allowed myself to fully experience the good things that were available to me.
I want to live.
I want to laugh until I cry. I want to go on dates that become stories I tell my friends. I want to experience thoughtful surprises, long hugs, sweet conversations, and moments that make me feel grateful to be alive at this particular time in my life.
I want to experience a love that feels like friendship and romance meeting in the middle.
I want to be loved in ways that make sense to me, and I want to learn how the person I love experiences affection too.
I want to understand that love does not always look exactly the way I imagined it, and I want to remain open to the beautiful things that might surprise me.
I want a love that is not perfect, but honest. Not effortless, but mutual. Not free of conflict, but full of the willingness to repair what we damage and learn from what we get wrong.
I want something that feels safe enough for both of us to be ourselves and meaningful enough for both of us to keep choosing it.
And until I experience that, I do not want to shame myself for wanting it.
I do not want to pretend that romance is childish or that the desire to be cherished is somehow beneath me. I do not want to turn my heart into a place where hope is no longer welcome simply because disappointment has visited before.
I want to make room for the possibility that something beautiful can happen to me too.
Not because I believe love will solve every problem in my life. Not because I think having a partner will suddenly make everything perfect. And certainly not because I believe my life is incomplete without one.
I want love because I am human.
Because beyond all the things I am working towards, there is still a part of me that wants connection. A part of me that wants to give affection and receive it in return. A part of me that wants to be known, understood, considered, and chosen.
And I do not think there is anything shameful about that.
So yes, I want to be loved.
I want the soft kind of love, the playful kind, the intentional kind, and the kind that still feels good when nobody is watching. I want the kind that makes me smile at my phone, the kind that gives me stories to tell, and the kind that reminds me that tenderness can exist between two people who are willing to show up for each other.
I want to experience it for myself, not just through the stories people tell, the pictures they post, or the songs that make me imagine what it might feel like.
And maybe, one day, I will listen to this song again and smile for a completely different reason.
Maybe someone will come to mind. Maybe I will remember a random afternoon, a conversation that lasted longer than expected, a little gesture that meant more than the person realised, or a moment when I looked at someone and thought, Oh, so this is what it feels like.
Maybe I will finally have someone to send the song to.
Maybe I will be the person someone thinks about when the lyrics begin to play.
And maybe the beautiful part will not be that I found someone who made all my dreams come true, but that I found someone with whom I can keep discovering what love means, one ordinary, imperfect, wonderful day at a time.
Until then, I will let myself want it.
I will let myself be excited by the possibility of it. I will let myself enjoy the songs, the stories, the little daydreams, and the hope that somewhere along the way, I might experience a love that feels as beautiful as the ones I imagine.
I will keep building my life, learning myself, and becoming the person I want to be. I will keep making room for happiness in all the ways it can find me.
And I will not make myself feel small for admitting that romantic love is one of the ways I hope to experience it.
Because wanting to be loved does not make me desperate.
Wanting tenderness does not make me weak.
Wanting someone to show up for me does not mean I cannot show up for myself.
And being independent does not mean I have to deny myself the joy of being cared for.
I can be a whole person and still want companionship.
I can be happy with my life and still hope for someone who makes it sweeter.
I can know my worth and still desire to be cherished.
I do not want to be loved because I cannot survive without it. I want to be loved because I am alive, and I want to experience the beautiful things life has to offer.
And if a song can make me feel this much about a love I have not yet experienced in the way I imagine, then perhaps that feeling is worth listening to.
Perhaps it is not a weakness to want something beautiful.
Perhaps it is simply a reminder that, despite everything we have seen and everything we have survived, there are still parts of us that want to believe in tenderness.
And perhaps I do not need to be embarrassed about that.
Perhaps I can simply say it, without apology and without trying to make it sound like I want less than I do.
I want love. Real love. Thoughtful love. Mutual love. And I want to be able to say that out loud without feeling ashamed.
let me know what you think and you can also drop a comment . Thank you
