Nothing Matters

Nothing matters.
Not how much love you give someone. Not how much money, time, affection, compliments, or energy you pour into a person, thinking maybe, just maybe, this time they’ll stay.

It doesn’t matter how many steps you take, how often you stretch or try to eat better, how many times you tell yourself, “I’m working on myself.” It all crumbles eventually.

I’ve grown to despise the word “plan.” It sounds so polished, so reasonable, so fake.
People hide behind it.
“Sorry, that’s not part of my plan.”
“I need to stick to my plan.”
Shut up. You’re not planning. You’re avoiding. You’re excusing. You’re doing whatever you want and slapping a professional-sounding label on it to make it seem noble. It's pathetic.

Everyone leaves. One way or another, they do.

My parents will die.
My friends will fade into new lives, ones I won’t be a part of.
The people I date? They always leave. Not out of cruelty, not even out of malice. They just find someone more engaging. More exciting. More worth planning for.

And I’m sick of it.

Sick of trying to prove myself worth staying for.
Sick of being the one who tries harder, texts first, listens more, apologizes quicker.
Sick of this one-sided war I wage against the inevitability of people walking away.

I don't want advice. I don’t want silver linings or bullet points or “it gets better.” I want to be allowed to say that this sucks, and it’s real, and it happens over and over again.
I want to say: I gave everything, and it still wasn’t enough.
And that hurts.

Maybe this is just what happens when you care too much in a world that rewards detachment.
Maybe I wasn’t made for casual. For temporary. For people who talk about forever like it’s a mood.

Or maybe nothing really matters.
And if that’s the case, then what’s the point of trying to hold anything?
Why keep loving people who are already halfway out the door?
Why keep building homes inside people who treat you like a guest?

Maybe writing this down doesn’t matter either.
Maybe none of it leaves a mark.
Maybe I’ll disappear the same way everyone else does; quietly, without ceremony, just another story no one finished reading.