Maybe love is just survival with company,
not fireworks or fate or the algorithm’s golden match,
but someone who stands next to you
when you’re microwaving dinner at 10:45 p.m.
because the kids are finally resting
and your inbox is full of half-answered questions
that feel like they all end with “you good?”
I was married for a long time.
Long enough to forget what I deserved.
Long enough to confuse endurance with devotion,
to believe that staying was proof of love.
Getting out was the bravest thing I’ve done
and the loneliest.
Because freedom costs more when you’re the one
who asked for it.
It comes with guilt,
even when you know deep in your bones it was right.
And now?
Now I don’t look for love, exactly.
But I long for it.
In the quiet spaces.
In the stretch of bed that doesn’t get warm.
In the way I turn to say something
but there’s no one there to hear it.
I tried the apps a while ago.
Built the profile.
Chose the pictures where I look tired but kind.
Wrote something honest but not too heavy.
A month in, and not a single like.
Not one.
It’s a silence that says more than it should.
It says, you’re not what people want to find.
It says, you’re someone people want to need,
but not need to want.
How sad.
The people I matter to,
they depend on me.
Kids, employees, family.
I’m the infrastructure.
I’m the safe landing.
I’m the guy who shows up
even when I’m crumbling behind the drywall smile.
But I wonder what it feels like
to be important to someone
who doesn’t need me for anything.
To be chosen
not out of necessity
but because they just
want to be where I am.
Being loved by someone who needs you
is steady, and sacred, and I hold it with gratitude.
But being needed by someone who loves you?
That’s different.
That’s a kind of grace I haven’t met yet.
And I don’t know if I will.
But I’m still here.
Microwaving leftovers.
Tucking kids in.
Keeping the machine humming.
And somewhere in all of this quiet
I still believe
there’s someone who’ll stand in the kitchen
just to be near
when I’m not trying to impress
or hold it all together.
Maybe love is survival with company.
But I hope it’s also
a little bit of peace
that doesn’t need me to prove
why I’m worth staying for.
not fireworks or fate or the algorithm’s golden match,
but someone who stands next to you
when you’re microwaving dinner at 10:45 p.m.
because the kids are finally resting
and your inbox is full of half-answered questions
that feel like they all end with “you good?”
I was married for a long time.
Long enough to forget what I deserved.
Long enough to confuse endurance with devotion,
to believe that staying was proof of love.
Getting out was the bravest thing I’ve done
and the loneliest.
Because freedom costs more when you’re the one
who asked for it.
It comes with guilt,
even when you know deep in your bones it was right.
And now?
Now I don’t look for love, exactly.
But I long for it.
In the quiet spaces.
In the stretch of bed that doesn’t get warm.
In the way I turn to say something
but there’s no one there to hear it.
I tried the apps a while ago.
Built the profile.
Chose the pictures where I look tired but kind.
Wrote something honest but not too heavy.
A month in, and not a single like.
Not one.
It’s a silence that says more than it should.
It says, you’re not what people want to find.
It says, you’re someone people want to need,
but not need to want.
How sad.
The people I matter to,
they depend on me.
Kids, employees, family.
I’m the infrastructure.
I’m the safe landing.
I’m the guy who shows up
even when I’m crumbling behind the drywall smile.
But I wonder what it feels like
to be important to someone
who doesn’t need me for anything.
To be chosen
not out of necessity
but because they just
want to be where I am.
Being loved by someone who needs you
is steady, and sacred, and I hold it with gratitude.
But being needed by someone who loves you?
That’s different.
That’s a kind of grace I haven’t met yet.
And I don’t know if I will.
But I’m still here.
Microwaving leftovers.
Tucking kids in.
Keeping the machine humming.
And somewhere in all of this quiet
I still believe
there’s someone who’ll stand in the kitchen
just to be near
when I’m not trying to impress
or hold it all together.
Maybe love is survival with company.
But I hope it’s also
a little bit of peace
that doesn’t need me to prove
why I’m worth staying for.