Why Would I Need Your Love, Ukrainian Boy?

Why would I need your love, Ukrainian boy?

You type me poems in the inbox —

so brave, so tender, so “romantic”,

hiding behind Wi‑Fi like it’s armor.

You speak of passion, of destiny, of “baby, show me more”,

but where were you

when my ribs were bruised

and the world smelled of hospital soap?

Where was your courage then?

Did your love take a coffee break?

A vacation?

Or just evaporate like cheap perfume in the sun?

You say you love me,

but only when the signal is strong

and the camera is on

and you think desire equals devotion.

You want my body pixel by pixel,

but you never wanted my pain,

my silence, my fear.

Convenient love —

the kind that fits into a chat window

but not into real life.

And now you write me stories:

how you dream of me,

how you imagine me,

how you want to “fix” my loneliness —

as if I asked.

As if I needed you

to rescue me from a life I built myself.

Because while you fantasize,

I live.

In Moldova, in peace,

learning English with a cup of tea,

buying groceries, gadgets, joy,

celebrating small victories.

I have a friend, Sergiu —

born in Portugal

from a Moldovan mother and Ukrainian father,

but with a heart not split in half.

He treats me like I matter,

not like I’m a storyline.

Every month he sends a little kindness to my card:

“for treats”, he says.

He kisses my wounds when I talk about the past,

and the world feels less cold.

You?

You want intimacy you never earned,

a naked soul you never held,

a naked body you never deserved.

Tell me —

why would I need your love, Ukrainian boy,

when your love has no spine,

no presence,

no truth?

I don’t remember your people.

I don’t miss your people.

I don’t want your people in my story anymore.

Those who mocked me,

those who hated me for my skin,

those who laughed and whispered,

declaring I “talked to myself” —

they vanished like dust in a storm.

Maybe the war took them,

maybe karma did,

maybe life just closed the door.

But they are nowhere near me now.

And I prefer it so.

Let me live with my peace,

my gadgets,

my shrimp and mussels,

my 50,000 mAh powerbank joy,

my mother’s hugs,

my father’s quiet strength,

and Sergiu’s warm presence

that feels like safety, not performance.

So tell me — once more —

why would I need your love,

Ukrainian boy?

When God Himself

is leading me forward,

far from where you came from.