A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her. Love is meant to nourish, not deplete. When nourishment disappears, devotion becomes exhaustion.
She pours her energy into reviving what is already fading, believing that more effort will restore intimacy. But effort without reciprocity is erosion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because imbalance becomes her rhythm. She gives endlessly, yet receives sparingly. Imbalance always costs her peace.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her.
She feels the depletion in her spirit, the exhaustion in her patience, the silence in her needs. Depletion is the evidence of neglect.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because devotion without recognition erodes her dignity. She begins to question whether her love is enough, whether her presence is valued, whether her effort matters.
She sacrifices her boundaries, believing that asking less will keep them closer. But boundaries are not burdens; they are proof of worth.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because captivity disguises itself as loyalty. She convinces herself that endurance is devotion, but captivity is only erosion.
She feels the erosion disguised as comfort, the silence disguised as intimacy, the scarcity disguised as care. These disguises cannot hide the truth of depletion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because neglect is unforgettable. Neglect convinces her she is unseen, but memory convinces her she is worthy.
She feels the invisibility of being present yet unvalued, of being near yet unnoticed, of being loyal yet unchosen. Invisibility is the deepest fracture of intimacy.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because love without reciprocity is not intimacy; it is erosion.
She feels the truth in her body, in her spirit, in her heart. Exhaustion is not sudden; it is gradual. And gradual loss is the most painful.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because affection without reliability is not intimacy; it is confusion. Confusion always fractures her confidence.
She feels the goodbye long before it is spoken. Draining herself is the first farewell.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because presence without devotion is not intimacy; it is absence. Absence always wounds.
She feels the ache of longing, the hunger for recognition, the grief of invisibility. Longing is proof that proximity is not enough.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because devotion without steadiness is not intimacy; it is illusion. Illusion cannot sustain her; it only prolongs her grief.
She feels the silence that convinces her she is too much, the absence that convinces her she is unseen, the erosion that convinces her she is unworthy.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because captivity convinces her that endurance is proof of love. But endurance without reciprocity is depletion.
She feels the erosion disguised as comfort, the imbalance disguised as care, the silence disguised as devotion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because devotion without recognition erodes her spirit. She begins to question whether her effort matters, whether her presence is valued, whether her love is enough.
She feels the depletion disguised as intimacy, the captivity disguised as loyalty, the scarcity disguised as devotion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because erosion is gradual. It chips away at her trust, her confidence, her security until she realizes she is breaking.
She feels the imbalance that cost her peace, the silence that erased her boundaries, the neglect that silenced her needs.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because invisibility is unforgettable. To be unseen while present is the deepest wound.
She feels the illusion that convinced her she was cherished, the captivity that convinced her she was loyal, the scarcity that convinced her she was loved.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because memory is her protector. It reminds her of what she endured so she will not endure it again.
She feels the depletion that drained her spirit, the erosion that broke her slowly, the silence that convinced her she was too much.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because dignity demands remembrance. Remembering is how she honors her worth.
She feels the captivity disguised as devotion, the imbalance disguised as intimacy, the scarcity disguised as care.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because love is not meant to be scarcity; it is meant to be abundance. Scarcity is betrayal.
She feels the silence disguised as intimacy, the erosion disguised as devotion, the depletion disguised as care.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because neglect is unforgettable. Neglect convinces her she is unseen, but memory convinces her she is worthy.
She feels the illusion disguised as intimacy, the captivity disguised as loyalty, the scarcity disguised as devotion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because memory is her liberation. It reminds her that she deserves more.
She feels the erosion disguised as comfort, the imbalance disguised as care, the silence disguised as devotion.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because invisibility is unforgettable. To be present yet unvalued is the deepest fracture.
She feels the depletion disguised as intimacy, the captivity disguised as loyalty, the scarcity disguised as love.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because memory is her strength. It reminds her that she is not too much; she was simply with someone who gave too little.
She feels the silence that convinced her she was a burden, the neglect that convinced her she was unseen, the erosion that convinced her she was unworthy.
A woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her because exhaustion is the evidence of imbalance. Exhaustion is not weakness; it is clarity.
She feels the truth in her body, in her spirit, in her heart. Draining herself was never devotion; it was depletion.
And so, the truth remains: a woman drains herself trying to keep something alive that no longer feeds her. Love without reciprocity is not intimacy; it is erosion. Devotion without recognition is not care; it is depletion. Presence without consistency is not proof; it is absence. The moment she realizes that love is meant to feed her, not drain her, she discovers that exhaustion was never her weakness — it was the reflection of someone else’s failure to nourish what she gave so freely.
