You keep telling yourself to be patient.
To understand.
To give them time.

But deep down… you know the difference.
There’s a difference between someone being busy
and someone making you feel unimportant.

And the hardest truth to accept is this:
People make time for what matters to them.

Not sometimes.
Not when it’s convenient.
Consistently.

You’re not hard to love.
You’re not asking for too much.

You’re just holding onto someone
who isn’t meeting you where you are.

And maybe the real question isn’t:
“Do they love me?”

Maybe it’s:
“Why am I settling for less than I deserve?”

Question:
At what point does patience become self-disrespect?