I wish someone loved me for who I truly am, flaws and all. I know I’m far from perfect, and I’m keenly aware of my mistakes. Every day, I carry the weight of those missteps and genuinely regret each one. I’m continuously working on myself, learning and striving to be better, but sometimes it feels as though this world has little room for forgiveness. After a certain point, it seems as if all the good I’ve done becomes invisible, overshadowed by the spotlight placed firmly on my faults. The love, kindness, and generosity I’ve offered seem quickly forgotten, eclipsed entirely by the memory of my errors.

I find myself wondering if there’s still mercy left in this world—if compassion still exists. Society appears to demand perpetual goodness, flawless conduct, and constant perfection. Yet, the truth is, I am only human, and imperfection is woven into the fabric of my being. There is a limit to the number of mistakes I can make before being written off, judged harshly, or discarded. The weight of this relentless expectation—the pressure to maintain perfection—is exhausting. What I crave is rest; relief from the pressure to constantly prove myself worthy.

Is there someone out there capable of loving me at my worst? When I’m most broken, vulnerable, and difficult to love, will anyone still hold space for me? I yearn for a love like that because that’s exactly the love I am willing to give in return. My heart carries a wealth of forgiveness, understanding, and compassion for those I hold dear. Yet despite all the goodness inside me, it often feels as though others only see the parts of me that fall short.

I desperately need rest from this cycle of constant judgment—from always feeling the need to convince others I’m good enough. Has compassion become merely a distant memory, something that once thrived but has now faded away? Can we still fully embrace and accept each other with all our flaws, or have we lost the ability to show mercy and understanding?

I continue to search for the kind of love that holds firm, that stays present, even at my worst. A love that sees me completely—the good and the bad—and chooses me regardless. In a world that often feels harsh and unforgiving, it’s easy to doubt if such love truly exists. Until I find it, all I ask for is rest—rest from this endless pressure, rest for my soul, my heart, my weary mind.

If compassion still thrives somewhere, if unconditional love remains real, I hope to encounter it. Until then, my greatest longing is simply rest.