Her Gravity: Thoughts, Habits, and Relationships

I spend a lot of time orbiting someone else’s gravity without permission. Not poetically. Not dramatically. Just in small, annoying ways: a notification that doesn’t matter, a song that sneaks into my playlist, a memory that insists on popping up when it’s inconvenient. And suddenly, half my attention is somewhere else, adjusting the day around someone who probably hasn’t thought about me since breakfast.

It’s subtle. Exhausting. I imagine conversations that will never happen. Perfect jokes that no one will hear. Rehearse apologies for words I didn’t say. I convince myself it’s meaningful, that the quiet preoccupation counts as investment. Really, it’s narcissism dressed as nostalgia. I’m thinking about myself through her, not her through me.

Every repeated thought, every small ritual, every unchecked impulse trains me. It’s gravity. Not inevitable. Not fate. Just habit simulating as feeling. Life happens outside the orbit I’ve built, but I keep returning anyway. Not for her. For the pattern itself.

And maybe that’s enough: noticing without expecting resolution. Understanding that attachment doesn’t need closure. That someone can occupy half your mind while you function like nothing’s happening. That orbiting someone quietly, ridiculously, is just… part of being awake.