I Want to Be Chosen — Without Having to Ask

There’s this version of me I’ve come to know too well —
The one who stays quiet in a room full of people,
who laughs at the right times, who nods when she’s supposed to.
Noticing, without being told.
Choosing, without being asked.

Most days, I’m not even sure what I want. I just know how it feels when I’m not picked.

It’s not that I want the grand gestures.
I don’t need roses or surprises or perfect words.
What I need — is to stop being the one who always remembers the dates, sends the Did you eat? texts, plans the meetups, carries the silence, forgives without apology, and still hopes they’ll stay.

I want someone to choose me…
the way I choose people — quietly, constantly, without waiting for a reason.

I’ve been the shoes left on the beach —
used, familiar, soft-soled from all the walking.
Still warm from the last person who wore them,
but forgotten under the evening sun.

And I know they didn’t leave to hurt me.
They just didn’t think to bring me along.

That’s how it feels — to not be chosen.
Like you mattered… until something else caught their eye.

Sometimes I wonder — if I stopped trying, who would notice the space I once filled?

Would anyone say,
“She always showed up for me. Why didn’t I show up for her?”
Would anyone whisper,
“She never asked for much, but maybe that’s why I took her for granted.”

I want the kind of love that sounds like,
I thought of you when I saw this.
You don’t have to earn my attention — you already have it.
Even when you’re silent, I hear you.

I want to be chosen in the softest ways.
Without having to chase.
Without having to teach someone how to love me.
I want to be the first thought, not the afterthought.
The person someone just knows —
It has to be her.