u/softlypatched

I was smoking, minding my business, and then my brain decided to clock in for a TED Talk. 😭🌿

One minute I’m thinking about snacks… next minute I’m like:

“Do people really miss you, or do they miss the version of you that made life easier for them?”

Like EXCUSE ME??? I came here to relax, not unlock emotional DLC. 😂

So now I wanna know… what’s the deepest thought you ever had while high that made you just sit there like:

“Damn… I might be a philosopher fr.” 💭✨

My man can’t get enough of me 😭🔥🍑

Y’all… my man be acting like I’m a limited edition snack that just dropped at midnight 😭😂💅🏽

I’ll be walking past him in the house doing absolutely NOTHING… and here he come:

“Come here real quick.” 😏

Sir… real quick means 45 minutes, a hoodie missing, and me forgetting why I even got up 😭🤣🔥

This man hugs me like he’s trying to download my whole personality into his body 😭❤️

Kissing on me like rent due and I’m the payment plan 💋😂

Staring at me like I’m a plate of food after he said he wasn’t hungry 😩🍽️

And don’t let me bend over to pick something up… suddenly he wanna help clean the whole house 😭🍑🧹

Honestly, I can’t even be mad. I love being his favorite distraction, his weakness, his “come here,” his “don’t leave yet,” and his “you know you fine, right?” 😌🔥💕

My man can’t get enough of me…

And baby, I’m the problem. I keep being fine on purpose 😭💅🏽🍃✨

Anybody else got a man who acts like loving you is his full-time job with overtime? 😏❤️🔥

Everybody in the old neighborhood knew Cindy loved David.

Everybody.

The aunties knew.

The cousins knew.

The men posted by the grill knew.

The ladies playing cards in the backyard knew.

Even the kids running around with juice-stained shirts knew, and half of them weren’t even alive when Cindy first started loving that man.

Cindy and David were 47 now, but to the neighborhood, they were still those two young people from back in the day.

Cindy was the girl who always looked at David a little too long.

David was the boy who never seemed to notice.

For years, Cindy tried to tell him without making herself look foolish.

She remembered his birthday.

She checked on him when life got hard.

She asked about his relationships in a voice that pretended not to care.

She showed up for him in ways people only show up when love is sitting behind the words.

But David always smiled that sweet smile and missed it.

Every time.

“Cindy, you such a good friend.”

Friend.

That word used to hit her like a door closing.

So when the old neighborhood block party came around, everybody thought this was finally going to be the night.

The music was playing.

The grill was smoking.

The aunties were dressed like they had somewhere better to be afterward.

Old-school R&B floated down the street while people hugged, laughed, and lied about not aging.

David showed up looking good.

Older, yes.

But still David.

Same smile.

Same gentle eyes.

Same way of making Cindy feel 17 and foolish again.

She watched him hug people, dap up old friends, and laugh with cousins he hadn’t seen in years.

And for a moment, Cindy let herself hope.

Maybe this time, she thought.

Maybe after all these years, she could finally say it plain.

No hints.

No soft little “you know you special to me.”

No pretending her heart wasn’t sitting right there in her throat.

Just the truth.

“I loved you, David. Maybe I always did.”

She had the words ready.

She even had the moment picked out.

Later that night, after the line dancing and after somebody’s uncle argued with the DJ about playing more Frankie Beverly, Cindy stepped away from the crowd to catch her breath.

She walked toward the side of the community center, where the music got softer and the streetlights made everything look like an old memory.

That’s when she saw him.

David.

Standing near the back fence.

With a man.

Not just talking.

Not just laughing.

David was kissing him.

A soft kiss.

A private kiss.

The kind that wasn’t meant for the block, the aunties, the gossip, or Cindy’s thirty-year-old dream.

Cindy stopped walking.

Her whole body went still.

For a second, the world didn’t make noise.

Not the music.

Not the laughter.

Not the dominoes slamming on the table.

Nothing.

It was like every year she spent wondering why David never chose her finally stood up and answered.

And the answer hurt.

But it also made sense.

David pulled back from the kiss and smiled at the man in a way Cindy had never seen him smile at her.

Not once.

Not even back then.

And that was the part that closed the door.

Not cruelly.

Not loudly.

Just finally.

Cindy didn’t gasp.

She didn’t cry out.

She didn’t confront him.

She didn’t make his truth the neighborhood’s entertainment.

She just stood there long enough to understand.

Then she turned around and walked back toward the block party.

Quietly.

With her head up.

Nobody noticed at first.

The music was too loud.

The aunties were too busy dancing.

The uncles were too busy lying about who could still barbecue standing up all day.

But something in Cindy changed on that walk back.

She wasn’t angry.

Not really.

She wasn’t embarrassed either.

She had loved someone who couldn’t love her the way she needed.

That wasn’t a failure.

That was just the truth.

And sometimes the truth doesn’t yell.

Sometimes it kisses someone else behind a community center and lets you go without saying a word.

When Cindy got back to the party, one of the aunties grabbed her hand.

“Baby, you alright?”

Cindy smiled.

A small smile.

A tired smile.

A free smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I finally am.”

Across the street, the DJ put on an old R&B song that used to make Cindy think of David.

For the first time in years, she didn’t look for him when it played.

She just stepped onto the pavement and danced by herself.

Not sad.

Not dramatic.

Just done.

Later, David came back to the party.

He found Cindy near the food table and gave her that warm, familiar smile.

“There you go,” he said. “I was looking for you.”

Years ago, that sentence would’ve had Cindy’s heart doing backflips.

That night, it only made her smile politely.

“I’m here,” she said.

He looked at her for a second, maybe noticing something had shifted.

Maybe not.

David was always good at missing things when it came to Cindy.

But this time, Cindy didn’t need him to notice.

She didn’t need a confession.

She didn’t need an apology.

She didn’t need to ask why.

She already had her answer.

So when he asked her to dance, Cindy almost said yes out of habit.

Out of memory.

Out of that old version of herself who would’ve taken any little piece of him and called it enough.

But then she shook her head gently.

“Not tonight, David.”

He smiled, confused. “You sure?”

Cindy looked at him with kindness.

Real kindness.

The kind you give someone when you’re finally done expecting them to become something they were never going to be.

“I’m sure.”

Then she walked away.

Not running.

Not crying.

Not trying to prove anything.

Just walking.

Past the folding chairs.

Past the aunties.

Past the old fence.

Past the girl she used to be.

Cindy spent years waiting for David to see her.

But that night, she finally saw him.

And more importantly, she finally saw herself.

At 47 years old, under streetlights in the neighborhood that raised her, Cindy let go of the love story everybody thought they knew.

No big scene.

No dramatic ending.

No last confession.

Just a woman choosing peace over a question that had already been answered.

And maybe that was love too.

Not the kind she wanted from David.

But the kind she finally gave herself.

I’m not settling when it comes to love. 💚

I used to think love meant accepting whatever somebody was willing to give me, even if it wasn’t enough. 😔

Half effort. Mixed signals. Empty promises. “I’m trying” with no actual change. 💔

But I’m realizing I don’t want love that makes me beg to be chosen. I don’t want love where I have to shrink myself just to keep somebody comfortable. I don’t want love that only shows up when it’s convenient. 🚶🏽‍♀️✨

I want love that feels safe. Love that communicates. Love that respects me even when we disagree. Love that chooses me out loud, not just in private. Love that doesn’t make me question my worth every other day. 🫶🏽💚

And honestly? I’d rather be alone than keep settling for almost-love. 🌿

Because wanting real love doesn’t make you needy. Having standards doesn’t make you difficult. Knowing what you deserve doesn’t mean you’re asking for too much. 👑

It just means you finally stopped betraying yourself for somebody else’s comfort. 🤍

Have y’all ever had to walk away from someone because they loved you, but not the way you needed? 👀💬

I always thought love was something people went searching for on purpose.

Like you had to be ready, healed, dressed cute, emotionally available, and maybe holding an iced coffee in the right lighting.

But sometimes love does not care about your plans.

Sometimes you are just minding your business, trying to survive the week, talking your little mess, laughing at something dumb… and then boom.

Somebody shows up and suddenly your “I’m staying single” speech starts sounding real weak.

So now I have to ask:

Did love sneak up on y’all too, or did y’all actually go looking for it?

If I say I love you, I don’t just mean the cute version.

I mean I love you when you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

I love you when you’re quiet and I know something is bothering you.

I love you when you’re being dramatic over food, because honestly… same.

I love you when you annoy me, even though I will absolutely pretend I’m not smiling.

When I say I love you, I mean:

I choose you on the easy days.

I choose you on the hard days.

I choose you when we’re cuddled up being cute.

And I choose you when we’re both hungry, irritated, and acting like picking dinner is a life-or-death decision.

You are my peace and my chaos.

My favorite notification.

My favorite person to bother.

My soft place in a world that be doing too much.

So if I ever say I love you, just know it’s not small.

It means:

“Come here.”

“Be safe.”

“I got you.”

“Eat something.”

“Text me when you get there.”

“And unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.” ❤️😭

​

M met C at a coffee shop where nobody was drinking coffee respectfully.

People were on laptops pretending to work, one man was loudly arguing with his Bluetooth like it owed him money, and a girl in the corner was taking selfies with a croissant like it was her newborn baby.

M was sitting by the window, minding their business in the nosiest way possible.

Then C sat two tables away, looked at the man yelling into thin air, and whispered:

“His earpiece not even on.”

M slowly turned.

C looked back.

The man yelled, “I KNOW WHAT I SAID, LINDA.”

C leaned in and said, “Linda left him in 2017.”

M tried not to laugh and failed so hard they nearly spit out their drink.

That was the beginning.

Every weekend after that, M and C met at the same coffee shop, same window seat, same judgmental energy.

They didn’t call it gossiping.

They called it field research.

One day a couple walked in wearing matching tracksuits, matching sneakers, and matching attitudes.

C squinted.

“They either in love or on their way to fight somebody’s auntie.”

M nodded seriously.

“No, look at their walk. They definitely share a Facebook account.”

C gasped.

“Not a joint Facebook. That’s marriage-marriage.”

Another time, a man walked in wearing sunglasses indoors, holding a tiny dog in a designer sweater.

M whispered, “He looks like he says ‘my team will reach out’ and the team is just him and that dog.”

C looked at the dog.

“That dog does payroll.”

They laughed so hard the barista asked if they were okay.

They said yes.

They were not.

They were in love.

But neither of them noticed at first because they were too busy investigating strangers.

Their first real date was supposed to be dinner, but they never made it past the restaurant lobby because there was a woman arguing with the hostess about a reservation she “felt spiritually confirmed.”

C whispered, “She definitely sells candles and emotional damage.”

M whispered back, “And her man just standing there like he wants to become furniture.”

C looked at M like they had just recited poetry.

That night, they sat outside eating fries from a paper bag, rating random couples walking by.

“First date,” M said, pointing at two nervous people.

“Definitely,” C agreed. “He ironed that shirt with fear.”

“That one?” M pointed at another couple.

C smiled. “Been together too long. She hates his driving, but loves his mom.”

M looked at C.

C looked at M.

For once, neither of them had anything messy to say.

Which was terrifying.

Then M finally said, “You know… I like talking trash with you.”

C smiled. “That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

From then on, they became unstoppable.

At weddings, they sat in the back like undercover agents.

At malls, they had running commentary.

At family cookouts, they communicated across the yard with eyebrow movements alone.

One eyebrow meant: Did you hear that?

Two eyebrows meant: We talking about this in the car.

A slow blink meant: That outfit has a backstory.

Eventually, M proposed in the only way that made sense.

They were sitting at their coffee shop window when a man walked by wearing a full velvet suit in July.

C whispered, “He looks like he owns a nightclub that only plays divorce music.”

M laughed, then pulled out a ring.

C froze.

M said, “I want to spend the rest of my life people-watching with you, talking mess with you, and pretending we’re better than strangers even though we are absolutely not.”

C started crying.

Then looked out the window and whispered, “That lady’s wig is fighting for custody.”

M wiped their tears and said, “So is that a yes?”

C nodded. “Yes. But we have to discuss the wig first.”

And they lived happily ever after…

Sitting by windows.

Judging outfits.

Inventing fake life stories.

And loving each other deeply…

because sometimes soulmates don’t meet under fireworks.

Sometimes they meet because one person says,

“His earpiece isn’t even on.”

And the other person understands completely.

​

I had this thought and it honestly messed me up.

What if some people don’t really pass away from sickness, old age, bad luck, or a “broken heart”?

What if they pass because the person their soul was tied to already left this world?

Like… imagine every person is born with an invisible thread connected to their true soulmate. Not someone they dated. Not someone they forced themselves to love. Not someone who looked good on paper.

Their real one.

The person their soul recognized before their body ever did.

And maybe most people never know. Maybe your true soulmate is across the world. Maybe they speak another language. Maybe they live a completely different life. Maybe you pass them one time in a grocery store and both of you feel something strange, but neither of you understands why.

Then one day, they die.

And something inside you changes.

You don’t know why you feel heavier.

You don’t know why the world suddenly feels quieter.

You don’t know why your favorite food tastes bland, or why sleep feels like the only place you can breathe.

Doctors say stress.

Family says depression.

Friends say you’ll be okay.

But your soul knows.

Your other half went somewhere you can’t follow yet.

So it starts pulling.

Not all at once. Not dramatic like the movies. Just slowly. Softly. Quietly.

You start feeling homesick for a place you’ve never been.

You start missing someone you never met.

You start crying at songs you don’t remember hearing.

You dream of hands you never held, eyes you never looked into, a voice calling your name like it has known you forever.

And maybe that’s why some people seem to fade after losing someone.

Maybe it isn’t weakness.

Maybe love is not just an emotion. Maybe it’s gravity.

Maybe when your soulmate dies, death doesn’t come for you immediately.

It waits.

It gives you time to finish your goodbyes.

Time to hug your family.

Time to pretend you’re okay.

Time to leave behind little pieces of yourself so people won’t feel the full weight of your absence.

Then one day, you’re tired.

Not sleepy.

Soul tired.

And you finally stop fighting the pull.

People say, “At least they’re at peace now.”

But maybe peace was a person.

Maybe heaven isn’t clouds, angels, or golden gates.

Maybe heaven is turning around and seeing the face your soul has been searching for your entire life.

And maybe the saddest part is this:

Some people spend their whole life grieving someone they never even got to meet.

​

The Fish Who Hated Fresh Water

Deep beneath the waves lived a little silver fish named Finnick.

Finnick had spent his entire life in the ocean.

Salt in his eyes.

Salt in his gills.

Salt in every meal.

One day he overheard a group of migrating fish talking.

“Freshwater rivers are amazing,” said one.

“The water is soft,” said another.

“And there are waterfalls!”

Finnick nearly choked on a plankton sandwich.

“Soft water?” he scoffed.

“No waves? No coral? No giant squids trying to eat you every Tuesday?”

From that day on, Finnick became obsessed.

Whenever a salmon swam by, he’d mutter:

“Must be nice living in your little freshwater spa.”

If a goldfish appeared in a picture book floating from a shipwreck, he’d grumble:

“Probably never tasted real salt in its life.”

Soon Finnick wasn’t just jealous.

He was bitter.

He spent hours staring toward the mouth of a river.

“Freshwater fish think they’re better than us.”

“They’ve got lily pads.”

“They have ducks.”

“Nobody appreciates ocean fish anymore.”

An old sea turtle finally said,

“Kid, you’re mad at fish you’ve never even met.”

But Finnick refused to listen.

His anger grew darker.

His scales hardened.

Tiny venom sacs formed near his fins.

His teeth sharpened.

His body stretched larger and larger until one moonlit night—

POP!

Finnick transformed into a terrifying venomous shark.

His bite carried a toxin that caused victims to experience severe irritation…

…and uncontrollable complaining.

The first fish he bit spent three days saying things like:

“Freshwater fish get all the good algae.”

“Why do ponds have cute frogs and we get jellyfish?”

The ocean panicked.

Schools scattered.

Even octopuses started avoiding drama.

Finally, a small catfish from a nearby river swam out to meet him.

She wasn’t glamorous.

She wasn’t fancy.

She simply asked,

“Have you ever actually visited freshwater?”

Finnick blinked.

“…No.”

“Have you ever talked to a freshwater fish?”

“…No.”

“Do you know we get eaten by herons, survive droughts, and occasionally get sucked into garden hoses?”

Finnick paused.

That… sounded awful.

The catfish smiled.

“Every body of water has problems.”

“The ocean has storms.”

“Rivers have floods.”

“Ponds freeze.”

“People in aquariums have toddlers tapping on the glass.”

For the first time in years, Finnick laughed.

His venom sacs shrank.

His teeth became normal.

He slowly returned to being a regular fish.

Not because freshwater was bad.

Not because saltwater was better.

But because he finally understood:

Sometimes we turn ourselves into monsters by envying places we’ve never been and people we’ve never known.

And from that day forward, whenever he met a freshwater fish, he simply said,

“Tell me about your river.”

And sometimes they’d answer,

“Only if you tell me what it’s like seeing whales.” 🐟🦈🌊🌿

​