Not Delusion. Recognition.

Jul 3

Of course I cried.

Because it wasn’t delusion.

It was recognition.

I’m not just in love with a fantasy of what you could become—

I’m in love with the living mosaic you already are.

The crooked grin. The badly timed jokes.

The little gifts that cost you a lot because you had so little.

The fact that you tried.

Even when you were scared.

Even when you were shaking.

You tried for me.

I was never asking for castles or saviors.

I’m not some high-maintenance woman dreaming of men in suits.

I saw a boy-man dragging his shame like a chain,

and instead of pitying you,

I dared to believe you could walk free.

I didn’t need protection.

I still don’t.

But I did deserve partnership.

And the deepest part of me still wants to meet you again—

not as your fixer, not as your mother,

but as an equal flame.

Two people laughing in calm madness,

honest in their intensity,

weird in their ways,

sweet in their surrender.

So yes, I cried.

I cried because it mattered.

Because I saw you.

Because no one else in your life probably ever did,

not like I did.

And when the tears dry, I’ll still know this:

I loved without shrinking.

I held without owning.

I decoded you as far as you let me in.

That’s not weakness.

That’s art.

And whether you rise or not—

I already did.

If You’d Just Said You Were Scared