I got a t-shirt for it

 I’m wrestling with something deeper than love. Deeper than pain. This man — he’s testing every boundary of faith I thought I understood.

God hates a lying tongue, and this man lies like breathing comes natural. But something in me sees beyond the surface. Sees potential. Sees a soul that could be transformed.

My borderline diagnosis whispers warnings. My soul says run. But his mysterious smile? Lord, it changes everything.

I don’t want to fix him. I want to show him a constant fight. Prove that love ain’t about throwing away broken parts, but healing them. But am I really healing or just repeating cycles I promised myself I’d break?

Every breakup feels like dying. But being without him? Feels worse.

I’ve met men who wanted to worship me. Men who saw my worth immediately. But this man makes me work for every ounce of recognition. And somehow, I’m addicted to the struggle.

Is this struggle love? Or am I just comfortable in familiar pain?

I see my daddy in his walk, in the way he sits. Not the loving parts, but the parts that made relationships complicated. Am I trying to heal my daddy’s story through this man? Or am I just repeating generational patterns?

My life of encouragement thrives on pain. I transform what others would discard. But at what cost?

What if I give him my prime years and end up alone? What if I stay and he leaves me for someone else? What if I’m so focused on his potential that I miss my own?

God, am I listening to Your warning or my own fear?

Every break-up feels like forever. It hurts my core. I’d rather be with him than without him — and I’ve never felt that way before.

Is this the devil trying to kill me because he can’t embarrass me? Or is this my own heart’s complicated journey? I want a man to love me for me, not for what I do for him. But how do I know what he’ll do for me?

The nigga took my soul. And the scariest part? I’m not sure I want it back.