Chosen

Then I realize what I said.
Then I was mad.
Mad at him, mad at her, mad at myself.
Mad because I wanted him and I can’t have him.
Because I’m just the other woman — a shadow, a half-ghost,
a secret that tastes like ash when I try to swallow it.

And I ask myself, is it so wrong to want love?
Is it really too much, to want someone to hold me like I matter,
to want lips that don’t flinch, hands that don’t slip away,
a heart that doesn’t belong to somebody else first?

Every guy I want looks right past me.
Every guy I don’t want looks straight at me.
It’s like the universe is cruel for the fun of it,
rolling dice with my name scratched faintly on the side.

And I’m tired. God, I’m tired.
I feel like I’ve been standing in the rain for years,
watching everyone else get umbrellas,
while I just soak through until my bones shiver.

I don’t need much.
Not diamonds, not roses, not castles.
Just someone who says, you’re mine, and I’m yours,
without a pause, without a lie tucked under their tongue.
Just someone to love.
Someone who loves me back.

But instead, it’s always me left with fragments —
Crystal of faded childhood,
a melody that never lands,
a wish whispered into a void.

And maybe one day the void will whisper back.
But tonight, I just want to rest.
I just want to know what it feels like to be chosen.
Not second.
Not almost.
Not never.
Chosen.

by Onnaya