Is true love still out there?

It’d be unfair to say I was unloved.  

In some capacity, it’s always been there. Parents and grandparents that kind of wanted me (shout out to all my firstborn oops babies out there). The aunts, who found me novel being the first baby since well, them. A little brother and cousins that to some extent care that I’m not dead. It was the familial affection that one would expect. At least, when it was convenient.

See, I could tell from a very young age we didn’t have the love you hear gooey stories about or see on the TV. The grandparents I idolized turned out to have moral and religious conditions. My parents tolerated one another at most. My aunt's relationship had more red flags than a matador show. It was never pretty.

Then came the fifty-hour workweeks, endless work on rotting out trailers and the sudden influx of babies in everyone’s lives, and there wasn’t much time left for the shy, lonely little girl.

My company had been movies, TV, music and as soon as I learned to read books. Things that promised the love and friendship I wasn’t getting anymore.

I craved it. Idolized it. The concept of being special to someone. Worth fighting for, worth the inconveniences my parents did everything to avoid. They made me long to find a home before I was even old enough to understand why mine didn’t feel like one.

Before I could realize that it wasn’t normal for people to avoid those they claimed to love. That people who say I love you should find you worth the little compromises and the long nights.

I knew I wanted to feel something real and special, like what I’d been hearing about.

Unfortunately, with this hope came unhealthy attachments.  

As early as six, I clung to anyone who’d pay attention to me or show any kindness. Saw the sacrifice of my toys and food as me showing that I cared. That I could be a friend worth having. I ignored the mean things the kids would say when they thought I couldn’t hear. Assumed that when they left, I had done something wrong. That maybe I just didn’t try hard enough.

So, it went on like that for years.

Fake friends. Fake family. Sacrifice, obsession, disappointment. Desperate to find the characters in my books to fill some hole in my life. My Edward Cullen, my Ron and Hermione, Mark Ruffalo and Heath Ledger from the rom coms my mom used to watch. Not wanting to lose hope, because what’s the point of life if no one cares you're alive?  

As a teenager, I traded my body for touch because I couldn’t get an actual boyfriend or genuine connection otherwise. Offered money, time, and virginity like it’d help someone see that I’m worth something. That maybe if I just settled it’d be close enough to happily ever after. That if I just hoped that maybe… 

Then, I turned twenty-two, and it all changed.  

Suddenly, I was too tired to keep justifying the pain I kept putting myself through. Was terrified that I hadn’t lived my life yet or chased my dreams because I was so busy trying to find it through the love and affection and home I set out looking for over a decade and a half earlier. I got mad. Mad at everyone who’s taken advantage of my weakness. At my family for leaving me alone and not accepting all of me. At myself for not realizing sooner that I couldn’t make someone love me or magically turn them into the people I wanted them to be.  

By twenty-three, I’m demisexual and so stupidly in love with myself that I realize maybe being alone is a good thing. That I can give myself all the things those characters and songs talk about. After all, I know what I want from Prince Charming, from Wesley, Rhysand and King Fischer. I don’t need to settle for less than the love I want. I don’t need to beg for it because I am worth it, and anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth me.

I really wished this could be the end of this story. That I came here for another generic success.  

How I want to tell you an inspiring bit about self-love and empowerment fixing everything.  

Except I’m almost twenty-four.  

The thing the self-help, ‘high value’ men and women don’t tell you is that no matter how broken and hurt you are, no matter how far into your hermit, self-empowerment era you travel it’s still not enough to kill a hopeless romantics longing.

I still read romance books and long for the sweet, pining gentlemen. Listen to indie pop men crooning about their partners and past romances.  

It doesn’t remove the desire to share your progress with someone special. Or have someone to go enjoy your newfound hobbies and peace with. You don’t forget that you’re human and, as much as you're terrified of being touched, or looking for real meaningful sex, you still at a physical level need it. You still want to be held and cared for and find happily ever after.

But you live in 2026 in the US.  

You go on Facebook to see all the hate and pain in the world around you.

See the constant fear for the future and lack of stability.  

Watch the growing divide and maliciousness between people who really aren’t that different.  

Poetry groups overfill with AI slop, chasing clickbait headlines.

Videos about chivalry end up with comments filled with men hating women and women hating men. You find scared girls and lonely boys receiving hate speech in place of empathy. Guys telling girls their problem is a lack of accountability for wearing a skirt so short. Some women tell men they need to make more money to even be worth dating.

Love is dead on the internet.

Or dying at least.

Sold as something you find on an app for twenty dollars a week. That if you swipe left and right on enough pictures that maybe you’ll find happiness instead of dissociation. That if you have a good enough pick up line or big enough boobs maybe you'll get laid and find some decent company. 

Now as I finally reach a point in my life that I believe I’m ready to experience the true love I’ve spent my life longing for, I’m not sure it still exists? Just my luck, right?

I pray at least someone who feels the same sees this and feels some ounce of hope that maybe we’re not the only ones still holding out for romance. Even if we're currently putting the hopeless back into hopeless romantic.

As much as this sounds like, and probably is a pity party, I desperately crave to see proof of life. That we stand a chance in this scary modern world.

Until then, I guess I’ll just go back to my music and books.