The War Between Strategy and Sincerity
There’s a war inside me. One part of me wants to move like Shera Seven, untouched, calculating, never caught slipping. A woman who knows her worth so deeply that she places herself above disappointment. A woman who does not beg, chase, or cry over anyone who cannot see her value. I admire that power. I want that armor. I want to be impervious to betrayal.
But then, there’s the other me. The soft me. The one who still believes in something sacred—something unspoken and pure. I want to love without suspicion. I want to look at someone and not calculate what they owe me, but simply see them. I want to give without feeling foolish. I want my only fear to be losing someone to death, not to lies, games, or abandonment. I want to trust that love can be real, not performative.
The problem is the world I’m living in. The media screams at women: be smart, be strategic, men don’t love purely. Everywhere I look, I see warnings: don’t be naïve, don’t give too much, don’t let a man think you need him, don’t fall for love—it’s a trap. We’re told fairy tales were a scam, that love is a trick, that only fools bleed for romance. They say real love doesn’t exist, that men only value what they chase, not what they are given. So we study rules, master feminine energy, become experts in mystery and scarcity, anything to avoid being used.
And yet, I don’t want a love filled with tricks. I don’t want to be a constant strategist. I want divinity, not manipulation. I want a love I don’t have to perform for. I want to be chosen not because I played the game right, but because my soul was seen.
Maybe that’s the real battle: how do I stay wise without becoming cold? How do I protect my heart without locking it away? I don’t want to be bitter, but I’m scared of being that foolish girl who believed in forever while someone else was planning an exit.
I don’t know the answer yet. I just know I’m walking a tightrope between power and purity, between caution and surrender. I want a love that doesn’t require me to shrink, chase, or beg. I want a love confident enough to be gentle. Strong enough to be soft. A love I don’t have to guard—only cherish.
But then, there’s the other me. The soft me. The one who still believes in something sacred—something unspoken and pure. I want to love without suspicion. I want to look at someone and not calculate what they owe me, but simply see them. I want to give without feeling foolish. I want my only fear to be losing someone to death, not to lies, games, or abandonment. I want to trust that love can be real, not performative.
The problem is the world I’m living in. The media screams at women: be smart, be strategic, men don’t love purely. Everywhere I look, I see warnings: don’t be naïve, don’t give too much, don’t let a man think you need him, don’t fall for love—it’s a trap. We’re told fairy tales were a scam, that love is a trick, that only fools bleed for romance. They say real love doesn’t exist, that men only value what they chase, not what they are given. So we study rules, master feminine energy, become experts in mystery and scarcity, anything to avoid being used.
And yet, I don’t want a love filled with tricks. I don’t want to be a constant strategist. I want divinity, not manipulation. I want a love I don’t have to perform for. I want to be chosen not because I played the game right, but because my soul was seen.
Maybe that’s the real battle: how do I stay wise without becoming cold? How do I protect my heart without locking it away? I don’t want to be bitter, but I’m scared of being that foolish girl who believed in forever while someone else was planning an exit.
I don’t know the answer yet. I just know I’m walking a tightrope between power and purity, between caution and surrender. I want a love that doesn’t require me to shrink, chase, or beg. I want a love confident enough to be gentle. Strong enough to be soft. A love I don’t have to guard—only cherish.
26-30, F
