The screen glows. Another picture-perfect couple, another pang of something hollow. We scroll, we ache, we call it love. It’s a love of possession, of need, of “I can’t live without you.” It’s the stuff of pop songs and romantic comedies, and it’s a lie. A beautiful, seductive, soul-crushing lie. This love is a cage, and we willingly lock ourselves inside, handing the key to another person and begging them not to leave. We call it passion. We call it romance. But what it really is, is fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of being incomplete. Fear that we are not enough on our own. This isn't a partnership; it's a hostage situation with really good PR. This fear has a taste. It tastes like ash in your mouth. It has a feeling in the body. A tightness in the chest, a knot in the stomach. It’s the frantic checking of the phone, the obsessive scrolling through their social media, the constant need for reassurance. It’s the jealousy that flares like a wildfire when they look at someone else, the panic that rises when they don’t text back immediately. It’s the feeling that you are a half-person, a puzzle piece