This poem talks about how love can feel suffocating when we are not used to it , and how too much of love can feel like a burden as it comes with its own price to pay, because eventually the giver is tired and holds resentment for not being loved back and blames the receiver for being cruel, but it's a different story to the receiver, she is scared to be in love, she never asks for love because she doesn't feel worthy of it , so when she receives it is overwhelming for her, she gets confused and she questions herself again and again and eventually her biggest nightmare comes to be true, that the love the giver said was unconditional was full of conditions , she trieS to change ,begs and cries, but again she is left alone and pays the price This is the poem from her POV Once it was a fairy tale a miracle and a fantasy. Was it for real? This beautiful-how could it be? It felt special to be loved, but would it last forever? Drowning in thoughts, oh I was the question, what if this, what if that. It was a rush, moving time, flowing emotions, poetic rhyme. The love was overwhelming, I couldn't handle I was used to being alone. Resistance, a war within, whether to accept or let it go. Fight within me, fierce battle— independence or unity. Fear crippling through, what if I lose myself if I drowned in love completely? I tried to change my personality, for being myself I felt guilty. I wasn't sure, I needed space, I was punished for choosing myself. But day by day I was scattered, I tried to change. I was given everything except what I had asked just a little space I needed. The pace was too fast, I was made to believe it wasn't what I needed. And I was guilt-tripped And thrashed because I did not appreciate it. All the effort was in vain, I questioned myself, I got insane. The support and care I got came with a price. I had to pay back all of it, little by little, with my peace. I was made to believe I was the problem for not accepting what he thought was right for me a trip of guilt, a road to hell. Masked as love, a controlling self. Who was to blame? Oh, it was me so ungrateful for not accepting, pouring and pouring all the love when I had my own demons I was scared of. I believed surely I was the problem, tried so hard to bring the change, to mold myself as his ideal. But somewhere beneath the ruins, a voice still whispered mine. Love was never meant to cage me, nor demand I leave myself behind. So I gathered every broken piece, every doubt, every scar, every plea, and chose, for once, without guilt to come back home to me. to come back home to me