Worn Heart

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏.𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦.

On Saturdays,I make my own coffee.This Saturday,I woke up slow.But on any given Saturday…it’d be nice to pour two cups.Crawl back into bed for a wired cuddle.It’s Saturday, anyway—might as well play the day away.

𝗛𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝘅 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗺.𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴,𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦. He doesn’t push her to talk.Doesn’t try to cheer her up.Doesn’t mistake action for love. He just stays close.Steady.Quiet.There. Because sometimes the most loving thing a man can dois hold the umbrella—and let her feel safe, even in the…

If you’re still hoping someone will understand the version of you you’ve grown into— 𝒔𝒐 𝒂𝒎 𝑰. Not the you you were years ago.Not the you you were to survive.But the you you’ve fought to become. Maybe we didn’t miss our people.Maybe we were just becoming them.

I’m more of an eyes man than an ears man.It’s not the silence that gets to me.Some silences are connection.It’s the feeling of not being seen anymore that can ache.Is that when it lands for you, too—the missing, the quiet lack of being seen?

I had to buy ice and strawberries and motor oil today.None of that felt romantic.But if I’d been buying them for someone else, it might’ve.