u/bubblegumLarry

I’ve laughed with strangers,
talked for hours,
Shared stories,
sunsets,
Mountains,
and flowers.

I’ve met kind hearts
and brilliant minds,
The sort you’re lucky once to find.

But every one,
though rare and true,
Still somehow felt like passing through.

A lovely chapter.
Nicely done.

Until the day…

there wasn’t one.

—

You have that sizzle.
You have that shine,
Like some grand love
in perfect rhyme.

You simply fit
where no one could—
Like finding “better”
after “good.”

You made the ordinary glow,
A place I’d never thought to go.
The idea before I spoke the line.
The thought that somehow finished mine.

…

Then it clicked
with what I knew.

It had to be
just you.

You weren’t the loudest voice I’d heard.

You are
my favorite perfect Nerd.

You became
the quiet little measure—

The standard
of all I treasure.

You’re my oldest hoodie.
My favorite flops.
The conversation
that never stops.

You’re the breath
I take before I smile.
The thought that lingers all the while.

You’re my silly little grin.
The only one that I let in.

And somewhere
between all
the laughs
and
chats…

You…

Found me.

I’ve laughed with strangers,
talked for hours,
Shared stories,
sunsets,
Mountains,
and flowers.

I’ve met kind hearts
and brilliant minds,
The sort you’re lucky once to find.

But every one,
though rare and true,
Still somehow felt like passing through.

A lovely chapter.
Nicely done.

Until the day…

there wasn’t one.

—

You have that sizzle.
You have that shine,
Like some grand love
in perfect rhyme.

You simply fit
where no one could—
Like finding “better”
after “good.”

You made the ordinary glow,
A place I’d never thought to go.
The idea before I spoke the line.
The thought that somehow finished mine.

…

Then it clicked
with what I knew.

It had to be
just you.

You weren’t the loudest voice I’d heard.

You are
my favorite perfect Nerd.

You became
the quiet little measure—

The standard
of all I treasure.

You’re my oldest hoodie.
My favorite flops.
The conversation
that never stops.

You’re the breath
I take before I smile.
The thought that lingers all the while.

You’re my silly little grin.
The only one that I let in.

And somewhere
between all
the laughs
and
chats…

You…

Found me.

I’ve laughed with strangers,
talked for hours,
Shared stories,
sunsets,
Mountains,
and flowers.

I’ve met kind hearts
and brilliant minds,
The sort you’re lucky once to find.

But every one,
though rare and true,
Still somehow felt like passing through.

A lovely chapter.
Nicely done.

Until the day…

there wasn’t one.

—

You have that sizzle.
You have that shine,
Like some grand love
in perfect rhyme.

You simply fit
where no one could—
Like finding “better”
after “good.”

You made the ordinary glow,
A place I’d never thought to go.
The idea before I spoke the line.
The thought that somehow finished mine.

…

Then it clicked
with what I knew.

It had to be
just you.

You weren’t the loudest voice I’d heard.

You are
my favorite perfect Nerd.

You became
the quiet little measure—

The standard
of all I treasure.

You’re my oldest hoodie.
My favorite flops.
The conversation
that never stops.

You’re the breath
I take before I smile.
The thought that lingers all the while.

You’re my silly little grin.
The only one that I let in.

And somewhere
between all
the laughs
and
chats…

You…

Found me.

The bumblebee
Looked at his ladybug—
And this is what he said:

“I’ve loved you more
Than ever before.
Will you be mine forever and a day?”

The ladybug smiled,
Looked up and whispered,
“Okay.”

Word quickly spread
Of the wedding ahead—
And every Bumblebug was invited.

In the garden at noon,
Many friends did swoon—
Every last one was delighted.

They flittered and fluttered,
They bizzed and buzzed,
And zipped and zapped all day.

They swooshed and wooshed,
They swished and swashed,
They twirled the leaves away.

They skipped and skittered,
Dipped and darted,
Spun in circles bright.

The crickets chirped,
The frogs all croaked,
The fireflies lit the night.

The Bumblebugs
Just danced some more—
A purely joyful sight.

The bumblebee whispered
To his lovely bride,
“Let’s sneak away, just you and I.
I know just where to hide.”

They tiptoed past
The old garden shack,
And wandered slowly home.

They nestled in a cozy leaf,
Beneath the midnight blue.
He opened up his tiny pouch,
And they sipped some morning dew.

They didn’t need a single thing,
No grand or fancy art—
For they already had the stuff
That fills a happy heart.

Fin

The bumblebee
Looked at his ladybug—
And this is what he said:

“I’ve loved you more
Than ever before.
Will you be mine forever and a day?”

The ladybug smiled,
Looked up and whispered,
“Okay.”

Word quickly spread
Of the wedding ahead—
And every Bumblebug was invited.

In the garden at noon,
Many friends did swoon—
Every last one was delighted.

They flittered and fluttered,
They bizzed and buzzed,
And zipped and zapped all day.

They swooshed and wooshed,
They swished and swashed,
They twirled the leaves away.

They skipped and skittered,
Dipped and darted,
Spun in circles bright.

The crickets chirped,
The frogs all croaked,
The fireflies lit the night.

The Bumblebugs
Just danced some more—
A purely joyful sight.

The bumblebee whispered
To his lovely bride,
“Let’s sneak away, just you and I.
I know just where to hide.”

They tiptoed past
The old garden shack,
And wandered slowly home.

They nestled in a cozy leaf,
Beneath the midnight blue.
He opened up his tiny pouch,
And they sipped some morning dew.

They didn’t need a single thing,
No grand or fancy art—
For they already had the stuff
That fills a happy heart.

Fin

I’ve always joked that one day, I’d write my own autobiography. Not because I’m famous or accomplished or even all that interesting.

Hell, I’ve only been writing for a few months.

I just thought the idea of reading about some regular dude and his boring little life might be funny.

Like ha ha funny.

Truth is…

I’ve been writing passages for that book for decades.

Just never on paper.

They’ve lived in my head.

And for all the shit packed in there, it still amazes me how every little detail has stayed.

Up until my most recent breakup, I knew what I wanted,
how to get there,
and
with who.

But that’s the funny thing about life.

It changes.

One relationship ends.

Another begins.

Although this time…

This one is different.

This relationship is the realest thing I’ve ever done.

The scary kind of real.

The dangerous feelings kind of real.

It’s deep.

It’s daring.

It’s haunting.

It’s beautiful.

And—

it is so, so pure.

It comes with the craziest mood swings.

It hits hard, right in the gut.

It keeps me up at night and stays with me all day.

I can’t seem to outrun it.

I can’t outthink it.

I can’t beat it up…

I’ve tried.

It consumes me.

The more I try to hide,

the more it learns about me.

It’s relentless.

And yet…

I love it.

I love every twist and turn.

Every shot I take.

Every silly smile.

Every little bit of it.

Because somewhere along the way,

I stopped writing to tell a story.

And started writing to figure out who I was.

That funny ha ha autobiography I always joked about…

It doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Maybe it’s the story I need to write.

Not because anyone else should read it.

Because I think I finally need to.

Ya know—

I’m old.

Maybe not in years,
but in life,
I’m old.

Over the years,
I’ve had a lot of relationships.

Some good.
Some great.
Some that lasted only one night.

When I think back
to both the great ones
and the fleeting ones,
I keep finding the same common denominator.

Effort.

In both cases,
two people were working toward
something greater than themselves.

A shared goal.

Something worth building…
together.

Funny thing is—

the goal was never what mattered.

It was the effort.

Not too long ago,
I started wondering
what effort actually is.

What it means.

Why it matters.

How it changes over time.

The more I thought about it,
the more I realized
effort isn’t trying your hardest.

It isn’t simply showing up.

It isn’t planning the perfect date,
remembering birthdays,
or being good at banter.

Those things are expressions of effort.

They are not effort itself.

Effort requires understanding.

And…

Effort deserves understanding.

It is knowing
that today
may require a little more from me
and a little less from you—

without resentment.

Because tomorrow
those roles
may quietly reverse.

Real effort
isn’t measured
by how much each person gives.

It’s measured
by how willingly
they carry the weight
for one another
when life forgets
to make it equal.

If you’re lucky—

you find someone
who makes all that effort…

Effortless.

Ya know—

I’m old.

Maybe not in years,
but in life,
I’m old.

Over the years,
I’ve had a lot of relationships.

Some good.
Some great.
Some that lasted only one night.

When I think back
to both the great ones
and the fleeting ones,
I keep finding the same common denominator.

Effort.

In both cases,
two people were working toward
something greater than themselves.

A shared goal.

Something worth building…
together.

Funny thing is—

the goal was never what mattered.

It was the effort.

Not too long ago,
I started wondering
what effort actually is.

What it means.

Why it matters.

How it changes over time.

The more I thought about it,
the more I realized
effort isn’t trying your hardest.

It isn’t simply showing up.

It isn’t planning the perfect date,
remembering birthdays,
or being good at banter.

Those things are expressions of effort.

They are not effort itself.

Effort requires understanding.

And…

Effort deserves understanding.

It is knowing
that today
may require a little more from me
and a little less from you—

without resentment.

Because tomorrow
those roles
may quietly reverse.

Real effort
isn’t measured
by how much each person gives.

It’s measured
by how willingly
they carry the weight
for one another
when life forgets
to make it equal.

If you’re lucky—

you find someone
who makes all that effort…

Effortless.

Ya know—

I’m old.

Maybe not in years,
but in life,
I’m old.

Over the years,
I’ve had a lot of relationships.

Some good.
Some great.
Some that lasted only one night.

When I think back
to both the great ones
and the fleeting ones,
I keep finding the same common denominator.

Effort.

In both cases,
two people were working toward
something greater than themselves.

A shared goal.

Something worth building…
together.

Funny thing is—

the goal was never what mattered.

It was the effort.

Not too long ago,
I started wondering
what effort actually is.

What it means.

Why it matters.

How it changes over time.

The more I thought about it,
the more I realized
effort isn’t trying your hardest.

It isn’t simply showing up.

It isn’t planning the perfect date,
remembering birthdays,
or being good at banter.

Those things are expressions of effort.

They are not effort itself.

Effort requires understanding.

And…

Effort deserves understanding.

It is knowing
that today
may require a little more from me
and a little less from you—

without resentment.

Because tomorrow
those roles
may quietly reverse.

Real effort
isn’t measured
by how much each person gives.

It’s measured
by how willingly
they carry the weight
for one another
when life forgets
to make it equal.

If you’re lucky—

you find someone
who makes all that effort…

Effortless.

The bumblebee
Looked up one day
And scratched his fuzzy head.

He asked the ladybug,

“So…
When exactly
Did our first date end?”

She thought awhile,
Then smiled at him,
And gave a little shrug.

“I don’t remember.
Do you?”

They thought of lakes,
And rainy days,
Of picnics in the sun.

Of talking late,
Of dreamy fate,
And all the silly fun.

The bee just laughed.

And ladybug did too.

Then softly said,

“I don’t think
It ever really did.”

So side by side,
They wandered on
As sunsets painted blue.

Still one date.

Just broken up

By naps…

And snacks…

And dew.

The bumblebee
Looked up one day
And scratched his fuzzy head.

He asked the ladybug,

“So…
When exactly
Did our first date end?”

She thought awhile,
Then smiled at him,
And gave a little shrug.

“I don’t remember.
Do you?”

They thought of lakes,
And rainy days,
Of picnics in the sun.

Of talking late,
Of dreamy fate,
And all the silly fun.

The bee just laughed.

And ladybug did too.

Then softly said,

“I don’t think
It ever really did.”

So side by side,
They wandered on
As sunsets painted blue.

Still one date.

Just broken up

By naps…

And snacks…

And dew.

The bumblebee
Looked up one day
And scratched his fuzzy head.

He asked the ladybug,

“So…
When exactly
Did our first date end?”

She thought awhile,
Then smiled at him,
And gave a little shrug.

“I don’t remember.
Do you?”

They thought of lakes,
And rainy days,
Of picnics in the sun.

Of talking late,
Of dreamy fate,
And all the silly fun.

The bee just laughed.

And ladybug did too.

Then softly said,

“I don’t think
It ever really did.”

So side by side,
They wandered on
As sunsets painted blue.

Still one date.

Just broken up

By naps…

And snacks…

And dew.

There is this old saying that rents a space in my head.

“If you love something, set it free…if it returns, it’s truly meant to be.”

That’s the poet’s front door mat.

Silly fuck…

I never agreed with that.

I always thought that if you loved something—
someone—
you held it close.

Cradled it.

Defended it.

Protected it.

Because—

Love always had a weight to bear.

A load to carry.

Baggage.

And all that extra heavy
can knock focus for a loop.

You stop enjoying those fuzzy feels
and start looking for safety.

You rely on the wisdom
you gained
from being hurt before.

But…

If you’re lucky—

You find someone you click with.

Not just click.

It’s that
clickity-clickity-click-click-clack
kinda click.

The kind where conversation
stops feeling like conversation.

It feels like...

“OHMYGOSH!!! SAAAMMEEE!”

When typos don’t matter because you read what they meant, not what they typed.

It’s understanding the difference between —

“Ya”

“Yaaa”

And

“Yeah”

Those little quiet moments
you smile for no reason.

Those tiny learning curves only the two of you will ever understand.

It took me getting old to learn what not to do.

And that’s when I finally understood
what that old saying was trying to tell me.

Setting someone free
was never about letting them walk away.

It was about refusing
to hold them so tightly
that they forgot
they could choose you.

Love isn’t proven
by how hard you can grip.

It’s proven
by leaving the door unlocked…

…and smiling
when you hear it click.

There is this old saying that rents a space in my head.

“If you love something, set it free…if it returns, it’s truly meant to be.”

That’s the poet’s front door mat.

Silly fuck…

I never agreed with that.

I always thought that if you loved something—
someone—
you held it close.

Cradled it.

Defended it.

Protected it.

Because—

Love always had a weight to bear.

A load to carry.

Baggage.

And all that extra heavy
can knock focus for a loop.

You stop enjoying those fuzzy feels
and start looking for safety.

You rely on the wisdom
you gained
from being hurt before.

But…

If you’re lucky—

You find someone you click with.

Not just click.

It’s that
clickity-clickity-click-click-clack
kinda click.

The kind where conversation
stops feeling like conversation.

It feels like...

“OHMYGOSH!!! SAAAMMEEE!”

When typos don’t matter because you read what they meant, not what they typed.

It’s understanding the difference between —

“Ya”

“Yaaa”

And

“Yeah”

Those little quiet moments
you smile for no reason.

Those tiny learning curves only the two of you will ever understand.

It took me getting old to learn what not to do.

And that’s when I finally understood
what that old saying was trying to tell me.

Setting someone free
was never about letting them walk away.

It was about refusing
to hold them so tightly
that they forgot
they could choose you.

Love isn’t proven
by how hard you can grip.

It’s proven
by leaving the door unlocked…

…and smiling
when you hear it click.

There is this old saying that rents a space in my head.

“If you love something, set it free…if it returns, it’s truly meant to be.”

That’s the poet’s front door mat.

Silly fuck…

I never agreed with that.

I always thought that if you loved something—
someone—
you held it close.

Cradled it.

Defended it.

Protected it.

Because—

Love always had a weight to bear.

A load to carry.

Baggage.

And all that extra heavy
can knock focus for a loop.

You stop enjoying those fuzzy feels
and start looking for safety.

You rely on the wisdom
you gained
from being hurt before.

But…

If you’re lucky—

You find someone you click with.

Not just click.

It’s that
clickity-clickity-click-click-clack
kinda click.

The kind where conversation
stops feeling like conversation.

It feels like...

“OHMYGOSH!!! SAAAMMEEE!”

When typos don’t matter because you read what they meant, not what they typed.

It’s understanding the difference between —

“Ya”

“Yaaa”

And

“Yeah”

Those little quiet moments
you smile for no reason.

Those tiny learning curves only the two of you will ever understand.

It took me getting old to learn what not to do.

And that’s when I finally understood
what that old saying was trying to tell me.

Setting someone free
was never about letting them walk away.

It was about refusing
to hold them so tightly
that they forgot
they could choose you.

Love isn’t proven
by how hard you can grip.

It’s proven
by leaving the door unlocked…

…and smiling
when you hear it click.

When trust is broken,
The pieces often end up scattered across parts yet to be discovered.

They get tucked away behind a smile,
hidden behind loving eyes and washed away with every fake laugh.

And…

The cruelest part
was never losing the person
who broke your trust.

It was watching the next person
pay the price
for a debt
they never owed.

Sometimes,
the person who breaks your trust
steals one thing—

Those who come after them.

When trust is broken,
The pieces often end up scattered across parts yet to be discovered.

They get tucked away behind a smile,
hidden behind loving eyes and washed away with every fake laugh.

And…

The cruelest part
was never losing the person
who broke your trust.

It was watching the next person
pay the price
for a debt
they never owed.

Sometimes,
the person who breaks your trust
steals one thing—

Those who come after them.

There was a time
I thought healing meant forgetting someone.

Getting over them.

Moving on.

I was wrong.

Healing isn’t forgetting.

It’s coming to terms
with the way they changed
the way you think.

Before them,
trust was a handshake.

Eye to eye.

Squared up.

Simple.

After them,
it’s a digital background check.

Before them,
silence was golden.

After them,
silence screams.

The change is almost invisible.

One disappointment
becomes caution.

Caution
becomes habit.

Habit
quietly becomes personality.

Then, outta nowhere,
someone wonderful arrives.

Patient.

Kind.

Honest.

And instead of accepting who they are,
you dismantle them in your head—

searching for the part
that’s going to hurt you.

I miss the version of me
who believed people
meant the things they said.

Ya know…

The cruelest thing about hurt
isn’t that it teaches you
some people are dangerous.

It’s that it convinces you
you’re wise
for believing everyone is.

Nah —

Thats Bullshit.

Your mind rearranges itself
around the shit…

Until one day,

fear doesn’t feel like fear anymore.

It feels like wisdom.

There was a time
I thought healing meant forgetting someone.

Getting over them.

Moving on.

I was wrong.

Healing isn’t forgetting.

It’s coming to terms
with the way they changed
the way you think.

Before them,
trust was a handshake.

Eye to eye.

Squared up.

Simple.

After them,
it’s a digital background check.

Before them,
silence was golden.

After them,
silence screams.

The change is almost invisible.

One disappointment
becomes caution.

Caution
becomes habit.

Habit
quietly becomes personality.

Then, outta nowhere,
someone wonderful arrives.

Patient.

Kind.

Honest.

And instead of accepting who they are,
you dismantle them in your head—

searching for the part
that’s going to hurt you.

I miss the version of me
who believed people
meant the things they said.

Ya know…

The cruelest thing about hurt
isn’t that it teaches you
some people are dangerous.

It’s that it convinces you
you’re wise
for believing everyone is.

Nah —

Thats Bullshit.

Your mind rearranges itself
around the shit…

Until one day,

fear doesn’t feel like fear anymore.

It feels like wisdom.

There was a time
I thought healing meant forgetting someone.

Getting over them.

Moving on.

I was wrong.

Healing isn’t forgetting.

It’s coming to terms
with the way they changed
the way you think.

Before them,
trust was a handshake.

Eye to eye.

Squared up.

Simple.

After them,
it’s a digital background check.

Before them,
silence was golden.

After them,
silence screams.

The change is almost invisible.

One disappointment
becomes caution.

Caution
becomes habit.

Habit
quietly becomes personality.

Then, outta nowhere,
someone wonderful arrives.

Patient.

Kind.

Honest.

And instead of accepting who they are,
you dismantle them in your head—

searching for the part
that’s going to hurt you.

I miss the version of me
who believed people
meant the things they said.

Ya know…

The cruelest thing about hurt
isn’t that it teaches you
some people are dangerous.

It’s that it convinces you
you’re wise
for believing everyone is.

Nah —

Thats Bullshit.

Your mind rearranges itself
around the shit…

Until one day,

fear doesn’t feel like fear anymore.

It feels like wisdom.