I don't need a man I have to remind that I exist.
I don't need to send signals just to prove I'm still here.
I don't need to say, "You're supposed to call. You're supposed to text."
It has been twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four quiet, stretching hours.
Not because you were unreachable,
but because you were busy.
Always busy.
Busy enough that I can never tell
when you're free,
but somehow never busy enough
to forget everything else.
So tell me,
if you are free, even for a moment,
why don't you reach out?
Isn't love supposed to cover that?
Isn't love supposed to whisper,
"I may not have much time, but I have one minute for you."
One minute.
Sixty seconds.
A short call.
A simple text.
"I'm thinking of you."
"How are you?"
It doesn't take hours to make someone feel remembered.
It takes intention.
When you're angry and it's my fault,
I apologize.
When I fall short,
I acknowledge it.
But when you fall short,
there's always a reason.
Always an excuse.
Always something more important.
I know perfection doesn't exist.
I'm not asking for a fairy tale.
I'm asking for reason.
For emotional intelligence.
For a man rich in presence,
rich in personality,
rich in romance,
rich in love.
Yes, let him be rich in money too,
why not?
But more than anything,
let him be rich in effort.
Because how can you say you love someone
and think of them
and still not call them?
How can someone cross your mind
and not move your fingers to dial?
How can you miss someone
and not send even a single word?
What is the excuse?
What kind of busy erases love for twenty-four hours?
What kind of schedule steals one minute of care?
Girls don't ask for too much.
We ask for consistency.
We ask for security.
We ask to feel chosen without begging.
It's not that we demand the world
it's that some men give so little
that basic effort feels like luxury.
If I have to remind you
that I exist in your life,
that I matter,
that I should cross your thoughts naturally—
Then I would rather not have this at all.
Because love should remember.
And if it doesn't,
it isn't love.