Limerence and the Attention You Never Got
You know how their voice drops half a register when they’re tired. You know which questions make them deflect with a joke, and which ones make them go quiet in a way that means they’re actually thinking. You noticed the song they mentioned once, eight months ago, in passing.
You know how their voice drops half a register when they’re tired. You know which questions make them deflect with a joke, and which ones make them go quiet in a way that means they’re actually thinking. You noticed the song they mentioned once, eight months ago, in passing. You’ve listened to it forty times.
You could write a field guide to this person: their defenses, their tells, the specific shape of their loneliness. You suspect you understand them better than they understand themselves.
If someone asked them to describe you, they would probably say something kind and vague. Smart. Really thoughtful. Easy to talk to.
Easy to talk to. Of course you are. You’ve spent your whole life becoming easy to talk to.
Here is what I want to offer you, gently, the way I’d say it if you were sitting across from me. What you’re aching for may be the very attention you’ve been giving them, turned around and pointed back at you.
What you want is to be seen the way you see them.
If you recognize yourself here, nothing is wrong with you. This is what a deeply perceptive person does with an old, unmet need.
The skill you didn’t choose
Most people who are extraordinary at reading others never set out to be. They trained in a classroom with very high stakes and no syllabus: a childhood home.
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