Can I just say something? What’s worse than being single is having a crush. Like, single is peaceful. I can watch reruns of “Sex & the City” in peace while eating sushi in bed without worrying about stray rice in the sheets. But a crush? A crush is emotional caffeine. Suddenly my mind is hijacked by a never-ending internal monologue: “Am I going to hear from him?” “Was that last text too much?” “Does viewing my story at 2am mean something, or am I reading into digital crumbs?”

It’s embarrassing how fast I go from chill, evolved, independent, got-my-life-together girl to someone who thinks a ‘typing’ bubble is a sign from the universe. There’s a special kind of cringe that comes with dissecting every emoji — because who knew modern romance came down to reading hieroglyphics?

The truth? Having a crush is worse than being single because suddenly I’m not in control. My mood is dictated by the “delivered” status of an iMessage. I get all the butterflies of new love, with none of the security.

And it doesn’t help that this crush is…complicated. The way we met, the places we’re both at in our lives — if this ever actually happened, would it evolve from a crush to a crash? And not the slow-motion, romantic kind. The fast, dramatic, airbags-deployed kind?

A dark-haired, green-eyed Capricorn (he says hazel, but let’s be honest — they’re clearly green). Green eyes, like absinthe — intoxicating and slightly dangerous. The kind of eyes that let you know he’s trouble, and that if things ever crossed the line, you’d be ruined in the most beautiful way. Eyes impossible to read. There’s a story behind them — maybe a few too many. He carries his past like a secret, wearing heartbreak and hope in equal measure. He’s the kind of mysterious that makes you want to stay up all night, just peeling back another layer.

What is it about him? Maybe it’s the effortless conversation, the continuous banter, or just something about the chemistry that makes me feel like I’m in a free fall. Does that make sense? It’s not lost on me that I seem to find the same guy over and over again. As he put it in a late – night conversation, men “with not much more in the tank” when it comes to emotional availability. I have a knack for stumbling upon the ones who are fresh off a heartbreak, still reeling from whatever or whoever came before me. Somehow, I end up cast as the emotional first responder — sweeping in to pick up the pieces, trying to patch together something someone else left in ruins. I want to believe this one’s different. But I’ve been wrong before. And the truth is, I’m scared — not of him, but of my own patterns. That’s the thing about hope — it’s beautiful and terrifying.

He wasn’t the muse I expected — more like a surprise chapter that made the story a little more interesting.

It’s also not lost on me that my disorganized attachment style flares up with every crush that comes crashing into my life…this one included. I fall hard and fast, anxiously attached, only to fear gravity’s pull on me, quickly backtracking by ignoring them and testing their limits to see if they really care. First, I’m anxiously obsessed, wondering if they’ll text back. Then, almost on cue, I hit the panic button — ghosting, pulling away, or running little “do you actually care?” tests, just to see if they’ll chase. Spoiler: this one is no exception.

So as I spiral — slowly losing grasp of my thoughts and emotions, obsessing over every text bubble and overanalyzing every little thing he says — I had a realization. Maybe this is my opportunity. Instead of letting myself tumble down the familiar rabbit hole of infatuation-meets- self-sabotage, what if I did something different this time?

Because let’s be real: I have a history. I’m a repeat offender when it comes to falling too hard, too fast, and mistaking intensity for intimacy. My past “crashes” all have one thing in common — me, in the driver’s seat, foot firmly on the gas, eyes closed to the warning signs.

But what if, just this once, I hit the brakes? What if I actually let things unfold instead of trying to script every moment? Maybe this is my chance to rewrite my role in these stories — not as the girl who falls, but as the girl who pauses, takes a breath, and remembers her own worth, even in the throes of a new crush.

I’ve been the girl who, in true Taylor Swift fashion, would “cancel plans just in case you call.” (And yes, sometimes you didn’t even call.) I’ve been the overthinker, the playlist curator, the one who rearranges her life for a text with a winky face.

But this time? I want to be the girl who keeps her plans, who doesn’t put her world on hold for someone else’s maybe. I want to let the story unfold without clutching the pen for dear life. Maybe this is my chance to be present for my own life, not just the possibility of someone else showing up in it.

So yes, I’m spiraling. But maybe this time, the spiral takes me somewhere new. Maybe the universe keeps casting us in the same old storyline with different leading men — giving us reruns until we finally rewrite the script. Maybe this is my plot twist: learning the lesson, changing the ending, and finally giving myself the starring role.

Desire isn’t desperation. It’s courage. In a world that numbs itself with distractions, craving connection is an act of hope. And if anyone wants to call longing “desperate,” I’d argue it’s human. In a world where everyone’s scrolling for a feeling, why not admit we want to connect? We’re all searching for something real. But maybe that’s the moment — the chance to change the storyline. To stop casting myself as the fixer, the rescuer, or the girl who always wants too much. Maybe this time, I get to write a new ending — one where wanting more isn’t a flaw, it’s just honest.

I tell myself it’s not the same movie — new cast, new script. But somewhere deep down, I still brace for the same ending. And that’s what scares me the most.

Fuck, I have a crush.

Xoxo,

Alexandria