A few months

I was not hard to love.

 

I was simply easy to leave waiting.

 

There is a difference.

 

And somewhere between

“Good morning, beautiful,”

and…

silence,

 

I started translating

absence

into something that must have been wrong with me.

 

I replayed conversations

like security footage.

 

Was I too much—

too excited,

too patient,

too available,

too hopeful?

 

Or…

 

Was I simply standing in front of someone

who wanted the idea of forever

more than the responsibility of building it?

 

Because I built it.

 

Brick by brick.

 

I planned the dates.

 

I counted the days.

 

I memorized your dates

like they were somehow mine to carry.

 

I learned the names of children

I’d never met

because loving someone

meant caring about the pieces that made them.

 

I celebrated victories that weren’t mine.

 

Prayed for battles I wasn’t fighting.

 

Made room.

 

Again and again.

 

Because love—

real love—

makes room.

 

But somewhere along the way…

 

I realized

I was the only one expanding.

 

I became flexible enough

to bend around silence.

 

Patient enough

to excuse inconsistency.

 

Understanding enough

to make loneliness sound reasonable.

 

I called it grace.

 

When really…

 

It was grief

wearing hope’s clothes.

 

Do you know what it’s like

to hear someone tell you

you’re everything they’ve been looking for…

 

Only to slowly become

the last notification they answer?

 

To wake up smiling

because they crossed your mind…

 

And go to bed

wondering if you ever crossed theirs?

 

To stare at a phone

that never buzzes

while convincing yourself

they’re just busy…

 

Until busy

becomes a personality.

 

Until maybe

becomes your address.

 

Until waiting

feels more familiar than being wanted.

 

I wasn’t asking for grand gestures.

 

I wasn’t asking for perfection.

 

I wasn’t asking to be chosen

over responsibilities.

 

I was asking…

 

To be remembered

inside of them.

 

A five-minute phone call.

 

A “goodnight.”

 

A “thinking about you.”

 

A plan.

 

A promise that became action.

 

Something.

 

Anything.

 

Enough to know

I wasn’t loving someone

who only reached for me

when life became quiet.

 

Because I wasn’t looking

to fill empty spaces.

 

I was trying

to build a life.

 

And I would’ve waited.

 

God…

 

I would’ve waited.

 

I would’ve stood beside you on your worst days.

 

Distance.

 

Long workdays.

 

Fatherhood.

 

Stress.

 

I would’ve loved through every single one of them.

 

If I had known

I wasn’t standing there alone.

 

That was never the problem.

 

The problem…

 

Was feeling like I disappeared

every time life got loud.

 

And then one day…

 

The words finally came.

 

“I’m not in a season to give you what you deserve.”

 

And somehow…

 

Those words hurt less

than all the silence

that came before them.

 

Because silence

is cruel.

 

Silence lets your imagination

become the narrator.

 

It lets insecurity write chapters

that reality never confirmed.

 

Silence convinces beautiful souls

they’re forgettable.

 

It makes generous hearts

question whether they ask for too much.

 

It teaches lovers

to apologize

for wanting consistency.

 

But here’s what I know now.

 

I wasn’t asking for too much.

 

I was asking

the wrong person.

 

My excitement

wasn’t too much.

 

My affection

wasn’t too much.

 

My patience

wasn’t too much.

 

My tenderness.

 

My loyalty.

 

My effort.

 

My belief in us.

 

None of it…

 

Was too much.

 

It was simply poured

into hands

that couldn’t hold it.

 

And that isn’t the same thing.

 

So today…

 

I gather every unanswered text.

 

Every canceled expectation.

 

Every hopeful morning.

 

Every lonely night.

 

Every tear cried

over someone

who couldn’t meet me where I stood.

 

And I place them

back into my own hands.

 

Because this love…

 

This enormous,

reckless,

hopeful,

beautiful love…

 

It was never wasted.

 

It proves

I know how to love.

 

One day…

 

Someone will answer my excitement

with excitement.

 

My consistency

with consistency.

 

My effort

with effort.

 

One day,

I won’t have to wonder

if they want to hear from me.

 

I’ll know.

 

Because love

was never supposed to feel

like begging to be remembered.

 

And until that day…

 

I refuse to shrink.

 

I refuse to become quieter

just because someone else

couldn’t hear my heart.

 

I was not hard to love.

 

I was simply loving someone

who couldn’t love me

the way I deserved.

 

There is a difference.

 

And finally…

 

I know it.