u/Sudden_Shallot_8909

I wasn’t waiting for anything.

Not really. I was just living in the in-between, killing time, letting days pass politely.

Then someone crossed an ocean and time folded in on itself.

We met where people are always arriving or leaving, with nowhere to be yet. Drinks. Conversation. Glances that lingered half a second too long. A kiss that didn’t announce itself, it just… happened. As if it had been scheduled long before we knew to show up.

Nothing changed.

Everything changed.

It didn’t solve my life. It didn’t make promises. It didn’t even stay.

But it arrived and that was enough to remind me:

You don’t find meaning by waiting for the right chapter.

Sometimes the chapter walks up to you on a platform and rewrites the margins.

Bette than last time?

Is it an internet thing and you not want any logs or is this going to continue in person too?

It's like a test. Do you trust me enough to just not make an excuse like everyone else.

A basic faxet of friendship is having consideration for the other party. Do what you want, obviously, I understand the reluctance to make exceptions and accomodations for people, but the entire reason of having friends is to have a nice time. Deliberate antagonism is just plain rude.

And right now I am free falling and have no idea where I am going to land.

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I am so cautious all the time and now I am fucking falling.

Babe any relationship I am in is going to trigger me at this point.

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I am sure you can relate

But I understand, take a little time to evaluate, but not too long 🥺.

Pattern of unstable relationships? It's looking that way?

This is why we have that.

The closer we get the more I am going to fear abandonment.

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You did antagonise that situation.

You didn't need to see my ugly side

If you are not comfortable around my puppy say so, don't get to the point you flinch that can be interpreted as you about to kick my puppy...

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I am sure there was no malice and it was just ignorance but damn dude...

My nervous system is not used to peace ✌️

People mistake understanding for agreement.

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As though naming the storm were an invitation for rain.

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I knew why the wolf bit. I noticed the limp long before its teeth found my throat. I saw the hand that taught it that teeth were the only prayer the dark respected.

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This is the curse of watching closely:

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to recognise the fracture in the glass and still cut yourself when it shatters;

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to hear the lie, the fear beneath it, and beneath that the frightened child still reaching for the match;

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until blame becomes a set of nesting dolls with no child hidden at the centre.

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They call it compassion.

They call it wisdom.

Sometimes they call it betrayal.

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People prefer judges.

Witnesses remember too much.

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A judge can end the story with a sentence.

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A witness has to carry it home and set another place at the table for it.

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Understanding never asked me to excuse the thief, mistake hospitality for mercy, or invite the fire to stay for supper.

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It only demanded this:

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to know that monsters rarely arrive believing themselves monstrous;

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that cruelty often introduces itself as necessity;

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that love and terror sometimes drink from neighbouring wells;

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that devotion and dread can wear each other's perfume without sharing a face.

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I understand.

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I understand the slammed door, the sharpened tongue, the silence that borrowed pride's clothes.

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Understanding is not forgiveness.

It is not permission.

It is not surrender.

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It is simply seeing the machinery with the casing torn away,

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and grieving that understanding the mechanism does not place your hand upon the brake.

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So I stand where I always have:

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with one eye on what happened,

and one on what was chosen;

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offering reasons to a world that keeps demanding verdicts.

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Perhaps that is the particular loneliness reserved for translators:

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to spend your life translating what others mistake for excuses,

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and discover that being understood was the only dialect no one ever thought to teach you.