Fragments of Cassandra

I gave myself to you gently.
Not all at once—
but in pieces.

In lingering conversations at 2 a.m.,
in the softness of my voice when I felt safe,

in the way I let my guard fall without asking you to earn every inch of it first.

And when I finally let you touch me,
it wasn’t just physical to me.

It never is.

For me, intimacy has always felt like handing someone the sharpest parts of my soul;
and trusting they won’t use them against me.

At first, you stayed close after.

Your words were warm.
You laughed longer.
You looked at me like there was something about me worth studying.
And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice the shift right away—
because distance rarely arrives all at once.

It comes quietly.

Through shorter replies.
Missed calls.
Less enthusiasm in your voice.
Conversations that suddenly feel rushed,
like speaking to you became another task to complete
instead of somewhere you wanted to be.

And the cruelest part is that I knew the feeling.
My body recognized it before my mind would admit it.

That awful sinking ache of realizing someone is slowly pulling away
right after you let them hold the most vulnerable parts of you.

It made me wonder if maybe
you only loved the access to me.
Maybe you loved being desired.
Maybe you loved the closeness of my body
without ever truly wanting the weight of my heart.

Because real intimacy is not just touch.

It is staying.
It is consistency.
It is choosing someone even in the quiet moments
where there is nothing left to take from.

And I think that’s what hurts the most.
Not losing you—
but realizing how many times I’ve mistaken temporary warmth for genuine care.
How many times I’ve opened myself like a home
to people who only intended to visit.

But despite all of it,
I still believe there is someone out there
who will not grow distant once they are let in.

Someone who will love me in the pauses too.
Someone who will still reach for my hand
when all I have to offer is my mind, my softness, my silence.

Someone who understands
that my body was never the most intimate thing I had to give.


Be’ahava,
Cassandra