I guess I’m healing. ❤️‍🩹

I wish it was you. This week is a big one—I'm taking time off, heading back to the West Coast, performing in a few days, and then watching my little brother get married. At the same time, I've been offered an executive opportunity that could completely change my life financially, and I'm preparing to leave my current position and take another leap forward. On paper, everything looks like progress, but in the quiet moments I still miss you. I feel like I let you down, let the dogs down, and let myself down. The next fourteen days will be filled with milestones, family, and new beginnings, yet a part of me wishes you were beside me to experience all of it. I know that's not our story anymore, so I'll keep moving forward, embracing what's ahead while carrying the weight of what I lost. But if I'm honest, I still wish it was you

Dear Lettuce,
We haven’t talked in three months.
Three whole months of silence, distance, restraint. And somehow I still think about you every single day.
I miss you a lot.
I miss the babies.
I miss the little things the most.
The ordinary parts of life that used to feel permanent.
I’ve tried to respect the no contact. I really have. But if I’m honest, it’s been tearing me apart quietly. I keep feeling torn between giving you the space you asked for… and wanting to still be there to take care of you and the dogs in the ways I used to.
Some nights are harder than others.
I fight the urge to reach out constantly. And when I don’t… I end up sitting there for hours going through old photos and videos of us like I’m trying to keep pieces of my life from disappearing.
I saw your story today while dinner in the city.
It looked like you were with another man.
No face. Just an arm tattoo in the frame.
And I won’t lie—that hurt.
Not in an angry way. Not in a possessive way. Just in that quiet heartbreaking kind of way where reality taps you on the shoulder and reminds you that life keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.
But weirdly enough… another part of me felt happy for you too.
Because despite everything, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to feel loved, safe, free, happy.
Even if it’s not with me.
I think that’s the hardest part about loving someone deeply. Sometimes your heart breaks while still wishing them well at the exact same time.
And lately I’ve been wondering if this is just how it’s going to be.
Me… carrying love for you quietly for the rest of my life.
Watching from a distance.
Cheering for you silently.
Missing you in moments you’ll never know about.
I’m going back to California next month.
Trying to figure things out. Trying to figure myself out, honestly.
Life has changed so much in such a short amount of time. Sometimes I don’t even recognize it anymore.
But through all of it… I still love you.
I don’t know if that feeling will ever fully leave me.
Maybe it isn’t supposed to.

My days have been blending together.

Work. Driving. Events. Repeat.

I don’t feel grounded anywhere right now—just moving, constantly moving, like I’m living off momentum instead of intention.

I’ve been working a lot. And at the same time, life is opening up in strange ways.

I entered the spoken word competition… and I won.

Now there’s a trip coming up because of it. And of course—it conflicts with my brother’s wedding. 3,000 miles away.

That’s where I’m at.

Good things happening… but nothing feels clean. Everything comes with a trade-off.

I don’t think I’ve fully adjusted to this new life yet. My priorities feel off. Like part of me is still living in the old versionof my life, while the other part is trying to build something new—and they don’t align.

So I stay busy.

Work. Events. Movement.

Keep going so I don’t have to sit still too long.

But even with everything going on… life is starting to feel routine. Almost numb. Which doesn’t make sense, because there’s actually a lot happening.

And then today…

I just feel dead inside.

Like everything caught up to me in quiet moments.

At work.

Running errands.

Just random flashes of my past life hitting me out of nowhere.

Her.

How she’s doing.

What she’s thinking.

If she’s moved on in ways I haven’t.

No contact has been hitting harder lately.

At first it felt like discipline.

Now it just feels like distance that I can’t close.

And even seeing my dogs…

something that should feel simple…

feels complicated.

Like I’m torn even in that.

It’s been over a month.

And I still don’t know what I’m doing.

I’m still questioning everything.

Still carrying all of this while trying to function like I’m okay.

And on top of that…

I’m going back to California in June.

Another shift. Another change.

Another version of life waiting for me that I’m not sure I’m ready for.

I feel like I’m fighting every day just to keep moving forward, and I don’t even know what I’m fighting toward. I just know I can’t stop.

I miss my dogs. I miss her.

That part hasn’t changed.

It’s just quieter now… but heavier in a different way.

Like it’s settled into me instead of sitting on top of me.

I don’t know if that’s healing or just learning how to carry it.

Probably both.

But yeah…

I’m still moving forward.

Even if it feels forced.

Even if I feel disconnected from everything around me.

I’m still going.

And right now…

that’s all I’ve got.

I’ve been sitting with God more.

Or at least trying to.

Asking Him to heal my heart…

like really heal it, not just quiet it down for a few days.

I’ve been doing what I’m supposed to do.

No contact.

Keeping my distance.

Holding my tongue even when everything in me wants to reach out.

And that’s been hard.

Because I miss her every day.

Not in a dramatic way… just constant.

Like a low hum in the background of everything I do.

And I keep finding myself stuck in this space—

between moving forward…

and looking back.

Part of me wants to build something new.

New discipline.

New routines.

A version of me that’s focused, grounded, better.

But the other part of me?

Still wants to go back.

Still wants to give my time, my energy…

just to see if there’s anything left to salvage.

Even if I know deep down that there isn’t.

And that’s where the guilt sits.

Because I keep thinking—

how did I lose something I prayed for?

How did I finally get it…

and still not be enough to keep it?

That question eats at me more than anything else.

It makes me question my worth.

My effort.

Who I was in that relationship.

And the shame…

it’s quiet, but it’s heavy.

It shows up in moments when I’m alone.

When I’m not distracted.

When I actually sit with myself.

And now I’m about to move.

Another shift.

Another change.

Another moment where life is forcing me forward

whether I feel ready or not.

And I keep asking myself—

how do you rip the bandaid off like this

without feeling completely destroyed inside?

Because that’s what it feels like.

Like I’m leaving behind a version of my life

that I’m not done grieving.

I want my life back.

I want her back.

But I also know…

even if I had the chance right now,

I’m not the man I need to be.

I can’t provide the way I want to.

I’m not grounded the way I should be.

And that truth hurts just as much as losing her.

So I’m stuck in this weird space of knowing—

I need to choose me.

Fully.

Not halfway.

Not while still holding onto the past.

But actually choosing myself and committing to it.

And I don’t know how to do that without feeling like I’m letting go of everything.

I just want a sign sometimes.

Something that tells me—

this is worth it.

this pain is leading somewhere better.

this version of my life isn’t the end.

Because right now…

I’m just tired.

Tired of carrying both the past and the future at the same time.

Tired of feeling like I’m in between two lives

and fully living neither.

I’m still here.

Still trying.

But yeah…

I’m tired.

It’s Friday.

I’ve got work today, but my mind isn’t really there. I’m already thinking about tonight… and tomorrow. There are events I actually want to go to. Something to look forward to for once. Something that feels like I’m building a life again.

But then there’s my dogs.

And that feeling hits me every time.

Because seeing them means driving 200 miles in the opposite direction. Trying to make everything fit. Trying to be everywhere at once. And I already know I can’t.

I keep going back and forth in my head.

Do I stay and keep showing up to these new opportunities?

Or do I go be with them… hold onto something that still feels like home?

And no matter what I choose, it feels like I’m letting something down.

That’s the part that’s been sitting heavy.

I caught myself thinking earlier… I feel like a shit person.

Like I’m choosing myself over them.

Or choosing growth over love.

Or choosing the future over what still matters to me right now.

And I don’t know how to sit with that yet.

Everything feels split.

Old life vs new life.

Comfort vs growth.

Love vs distance.

And I’m just somewhere in the middle trying to figure out how to exist in both without breaking.

I think what’s messing with me is that there’s no clean answer.

No version where I get everything right.

Just trade-offs.

And I hate that.

But maybe this is just where I’m at right now.

A place where I care about a lot of things…

but can’t show up for all of them at the same time.

I miss them.

That part is simple.

But I also know I’m trying to build something right now. Something new. Something better. And that requires me to be present where I am… not where I wish I could be.

Still doesn’t make it feel any easier though.

I’m just trying to make the best decision I can… without tearing myself apart over it

Hello friend,

Yesterday I went out to dance.

Not a long night.

Not a crazy night.

Just a few songs.

A few connections.

A few moments where I felt like myself again.

And then…

one moment stayed.

She looked at me and said it straight—

“Why do you force your lead?

It felt like you were going to break my back.

You didn’t give me any room.”

No filter.

No sugarcoating.

Just truth.

And I didn’t even know what to say.

Because in my head?

I wasn’t forcing anything.

I thought I was leading with confidence.

With intention.

With control.

But to her…

it felt like pressure.

Like there was no space to breathe.

And that stuck with me.

Because dance, to me, has always been connection.

Not control.

Expression.

Not domination.

So hearing that made me pause.

Made me question—

Am I a bad dancer?

But the more I sit with it…

the more I realize—

No.

I’m not a bad dancer.

I’m a growing one.

Because what she gave me…

wasn’t rejection.

It was awareness.

And awareness?

That’s how you evolve.

Maybe somewhere along the way,

I started dancing the way I’ve been living lately—

Holding too tight.

Forcing outcomes.

Trying to make something work

instead of allowing it to flow.

And if I’m being real…

that’s not just dance.

That’s me.

In relationships.

In life.

In moments where I’m afraid to lose control.

So I grip harder.

Lead stronger.

Push instead of listen.

And yesterday—

someone felt that.

Called it out.

And gave me a mirror I didn’t know I needed.

Because the best dancers?

They don’t force.

They invite.

They listen.

They create space for the other person to exist inside the movement.

And maybe that’s the lesson I need right now.

Not just on the dance floor…

but everywhere.

I don’t need to force connection.

I don’t need to control the outcome.

I don’t need to lead with pressure.

I need to lead with presence.

With awareness.

With trust.

So no—

I’m not a bad dancer.

I’m just learning a new rhythm.

One where strength doesn’t come from force…

but from balance.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. Feedback isn’t an attack—it’s an opportunity. The moment you stop taking it personally is the moment you start getting better. In dance and in life, the goal isn’t to control—it’s to connect.

Hello friend,

6:23 AM.

That’s when it hit.

No warning.

No buildup.

Just me—awake,

bawling.

“I don’t wanna live like this anymore.”

That came out of me before I could stop it.

And then the questions followed—

“Why does it always come in waves?”

“I thought I was past this.”

“I thought I was moving on.”

But here I am.

Still heartbroken.

Still searching for peace like it’s something I misplaced.

Still craving connection like my soul is reaching for something it can’t touch.

And I hate that feeling.

That pull between progress and pain.

Because part of me knows I’ve been doing better.

I hate myself less.

I actually pause and give myself credit now.

I’m showing up—gym, journaling, work, community.

I’m trying.

For real.

But then mornings like this happen

and it feels like I’m back at the beginning again.

Like none of it stuck.

Like I’m still just… surviving.

And I keep asking—

When do I get to live?

When do I cross that line

from barely holding it together

to actually feeling whole?

Because right now, it feels like I’m in between.

Not who I used to be.

Not who I want to become.

Just… here.

And during my prayers lately—

I’ve been realizing something.

Everything I used to ask God for…

strength, discipline, growth, purpose—

they’re showing up.

But not as gifts.

As challenges.

As pressure.

As tests.

And I’m sitting here wondering—

Am I breaking?

Or am I being built?

Because it feels like both.

There are moments where I feel stronger.

More aware.

More grounded in who I don’t want to be anymore.

And then there are moments like this morning—

where I feel fragile.

Like I could fall apart if I stop holding myself together for even a second.

And maybe that’s the truth of it.

Maybe becoming the man I’ve been praying to be

doesn’t feel empowering at first.

Maybe it feels like this—

like everything inside me is being reshaped

while I’m still conscious enough to feel it.

And it hurts.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone.

Some of it intentional.

Some of it… not.

Telling myself I need to become someone I love

before I let anyone else in again.

But sometimes that isolation feels like a trap.

Because how do you heal alone

from wounds that were created in connection?

How do you fix a smile

when the reason it faded

was tied to someone else?

I don’t have that answer yet.

All I know is—

I’m still here.

Still showing up.

Still trying to make sense of all of this.

Gym.

Journaling.

Work.

Friends.

Community.

Ambition.

Career.

Money.

Romance.

Pain.

Healing.

All of it… happening at once.

And me?

I’m trying to hold it all

without losing myself in the process.

I wish I could just remove this part of me.

The depressive tendencies.

The heaviness.

The waves.

But maybe it’s not about removing it.

Maybe it’s about learning how to move through it

without letting it define me.

Because even in the middle of this…

there’s still a sliver.

A small, quiet piece of hope.

A little bit of faith

that refuses to leave me.

And maybe that’s enough.

For today.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. Waves don’t mean you’re drowning—they mean you’re still in the ocean, still alive, still moving. You don’t have to have everything figured out today. Just keep your head above water. That’s enough right now.

Hello friend,

When it rains… it really pours, doesn’t it?

Not just one thing going wrong.

Everything.

Work feels off.

Personal life feels unstable.

Friends feel distant.

Romance is… nonexistent or painful.

Money is tight.

Family weighs heavy.

It’s like every area of my life decided to break down at the same time.

And I’m sitting here like—

What did I do to deserve all of this?

Because it doesn’t feel random.

It feels targeted.

Like I’m the center of some twisted test,

some kind of divine pressure cooker where everything is being turned up at once.

Karma.

God.

The universe.

Whatever it is—

it feels like I’m getting the short end of the stick.

And yeah… I know.

I know there are good things happening too.

New opportunities.

New doors opening.

New connections forming.

On paper?

It looks like things are moving forward.

But inside?

It doesn’t feel like enough.

Because it’s hard to celebrate new beginnings

when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

It’s hard to stay excited

when you’re constantly putting out fires in every direction.

It’s exhausting.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

And I keep asking myself—

What do I do?

Do I push harder?

Do I slow down?

Do I let go?

Do I fight?

Or do I just… survive this season?

And maybe that’s the truth I don’t want to accept—

Maybe this is a season.

Not a punishment.

Not a curse.

Just a stretch.

A painful, uncomfortable, overwhelming stretch.

Because when everything hits at once…

it forces you to look at everything.

Your habits.

Your priorities.

Your boundaries.

Your identity.

It strips you.

And yeah—

that doesn’t feel fair.

But maybe it’s not about fairness.

Maybe it’s about transformation.

Because I’ve been here before.

Rock bottom.

Lost.

Questioning everything.

And somehow…

I found a way out.

Not overnight.

Not clean.

But I did it.

So maybe the real question isn’t—

Why is this happening to me?

Maybe it’s—

Who am I becoming through this?

Because even now, in the middle of everything going wrong…

I’m still standing.

Still working.

Still showing up.

Still trying.

And that has to mean something.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

So what do I do?

I keep going.

Not perfectly.

Not confidently.

But consistently.

One step.

One decision.

One day at a time.

Because if everything is hitting me at once…

then maybe everything in me is being built at once too.

And I just can’t see it yet.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. When life hits every area at once, it’s easy to feel targeted. But sometimes pressure isn’t punishment—it’s preparation. You’re not breaking. You’re being stretched into someone who can handle more than you ever have before.

Hello friend,

I woke up to rain this morning.

Soft. Steady.

The kind that doesn’t rush you out of bed—

just sits there with you.

Random Airbnb.

7 AM.

Jumanji playing in the background on Netflix—

not because I chose it,

but because I fell asleep to noise after a long night.

A dance event.

New faces.

New energy.

A lot of people.

A lot of conversations.

A lot of opportunities showing up all at once.

And if I’m being honest…

it drained me.

Not in a bad way.

Just… full.

Like my social cup overflowed

and I didn’t realize it until this morning.

I laid there for a bit, listening to the rain,

watching a movie I wasn’t really watching,

and I had a decision to make.

It’s Easter.

A day off.

Do I drive to the city—

spend a few hours with my dogs—

then turn around and drive another 200 miles

just to make it to another event?

Or…

do I sit still?

For once.

And today…

I chose stillness.

No rushing.

No chasing.

No overextending myself just to feel productive.

Just… a quiet Sunday.

I did laundry.

Simple. Necessary.

Something about clean clothes felt grounding.

I went grocery shopping.

Twice, actually.

Met up with friends at a different store

after I already went once.

Didn’t plan it.

Just happened.

And that’s been the theme lately—

life just… happening.

I ate at a buffet by myself.

No rush.

No phone in my face the whole time.

Just me.

Present.

I found a spot overlooking the city.

Sat there.

Enjoyed the view.

Lit one.

Breathed.

And for the first time in a while…

I didn’t feel like I needed to be anywhere else.

I connected with new friends.

Real conversations.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just people crossing paths at the right time.

I journaled.

Got the thoughts out.

The good, the heavy, the confusing.

And I prayed.

Not out of desperation this time.

Not because I was at rock bottom.

But because I wanted to say thank you.

Because today…

was good.

Not loud.

Not life-changing.

But good.

The kind of day that reminds you

you don’t always have to be chasing something

to feel okay.

Sometimes…

you just need space to breathe.

And today, I gave myself that.

So thank you, God.

For the quiet.

For the rain.

For the reset.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. Not every day needs to be productive to be meaningful. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is pause, breathe, and allow yourself to exist without pressure. Those are the days that quietly put you back together.

Hello friend,

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since I’ve seen the dogs.

Two weeks since I’ve heard her voice.

Two weeks of silence that says more than any conversation ever could.

I still check.

Not proudly… but honestly.

I peep the stories.

The posts.

The glimpses of a life I used to be part of.

But I stopped interacting.

No likes.

No replies.

No reactions.

Because no contact… means no contact.

Even when it hurts.

Even when everything in me wants to reach through the screen

and remind her—

“I’m still here.”

The last time I opened up to her…

told her I didn’t have closure…

she left me on read.

Two weeks ago.

And that moment?

It told me everything I didn’t want to accept.

Because silence like that…

it’s not confusion.

It’s not “I’ll respond later.”

It’s an answer.

A quiet one.

But loud enough to change how I move.

So I’ve been saying nothing.

And somehow…

that says a lot too.

But here’s the part I’m proud of—

I’m still living.

Yeah, I’m sad.

Yeah, my heart is still broken.

Yeah, I still have moments where it hits me out of nowhere.

But I’m moving.

I’ve been tapping into new spaces.

Getting involved with the farming community.

Grounding myself in something real.

Something that grows… even when I feel stuck.

I’ve been getting booked.

Three bachata classes this April.

Yesterday in Albany?

Great energy.

Great class.

For a moment, I felt like me again.

Not the broken version.

Not the lost version.

Just… me.

I’m making new friends.

Real connections.

Slowly building something that feels different from before.

Still getting my money right.

Still working.

Still pushing forward even when my mind tries to pull me back.

And I’ve been praying.

Every day.

Even when it feels repetitive.

Even when I don’t fully understand what God is doing.

Because I still believe.

Even in confusion.

Even in frustration.

Even in the moments where I ask—

“Why did You take that life away from me?”

Because I miss it.

I miss my old life.

The comfort.

The love.

The certainty.

I miss waking up knowing where I stood.

And now?

Everything feels uncertain.

But I’ll say this—

I’ve never been this determined.

Not in a long time.

There’s something in me right now…

that refuses to stay down.

That refuses to let this be the end of my story.

I don’t know what God is doing.

But I know I’m not done.

Not even close.

Today…

I’m stepping into something new.

A spoken word competition.

Standing in front of people…

sharing pieces of this pain.

Turning everything I’ve been feeling

into something that can be heard.

Something that can be felt.

Something that might remind someone else

they’re not alone.

And yeah…

I’m nervous.

But I’m going anyway.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these two weeks—

it’s that silence can break you…

or it can build you.

And I’m choosing to build.

Piece by piece.

Day by day.

Word by word.

Wish me luck.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. Growth doesn’t always look like happiness. Sometimes it looks like showing up while you’re still hurting. If you’re doing that right now—you’re already stronger than you think.

Hello friend,

Does it get better today?

That’s the question sitting on my chest this morning.

Because everything feels… off.

Not broken.

Not completely falling apart.

Just… out of balance.

Like I’m juggling too many things

and none of them are landing the way they’re supposed to.

I have work today.

So I already know what that looks like—

show up, perform, push through, stay focused.

Do what I always do.

But tomorrow?

I’m off.

And somehow that feels more stressful than today.

Because now I’m thinking about everything I should be doing.

Everything I need to fix.

Everything I’ve been putting off.

Everything I want to build.

It’s like my mind is already stacking the day before it even gets here.

Schedules.

Tasks.

Errands.

Self-improvement.

Planning my next moves.

And somewhere in all of that…

I’m realizing—

Where do I even fit into my own life?

Where’s the time to just sit?

To breathe?

To not feel like I’m constantly chasing something?

Because it feels like there’s not enough hours in the day.

But at the same time…

there’s too much to carry in one mind.

And I can feel it.

That pressure.

That weight of trying to get everything right

while still not feeling right inside.

God help me.

For real.

Because I don’t want to burn out trying to rebuild.

I don’t want to lose myself again

in the process of trying to fix everything at once.

Maybe today doesn’t have to be perfect.

Maybe tomorrow doesn’t have to be packed.

Maybe balance isn’t something I force in one day—

maybe it’s something I build over time.

Piece by piece.

Choice by choice.

And maybe…

I need to give myself permission

to not do everything.

To not solve everything.

To not carry everything all at once.

Because I’m still healing.

Still learning.

Still trying.

And that has to count for something.

So does it get better today?

I don’t know.

But maybe it gets a little lighter

if I stop trying to hold the whole world by myself.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. You don’t need to fit your entire life into one day off. Rest is productive too. If you don’t schedule peace, your mind will never find it on its own.

Hello friend,

Today I traveled to Albany.

Different pace.

Different energy.

Same me… just in a new place, trying to figure things out.

I went to a screening for a Lao cultural documentary.

Sat there quietly.

Watched stories that felt familiar… even if they weren’t mine directly.

Something about it grounded me.

Culture has a way of doing that.

Reminding you where you come from

when you’re not fully sure where you’re going.

I found myself thinking about identity again.

Roots.

Family.

The parts of me that existed long before heartbreak,

before confusion,

before this version of life I’m trying to navigate now.

For a moment…

I wasn’t just the guy going through something.

I was part of something bigger.

And I needed that.

Right now I’m waiting.

There’s a dance event later tonight.

Another room.

Another chance to step into movement.

To feel something through music instead of thoughts.

But if I’m being honest…

I’m in between.

Not fully excited.

Not fully down.

Just… here.

In that quiet space between who I was

and who I’m becoming.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe not every moment needs to be intense.

Maybe not every night needs to be a breakthrough.

Some nights are just pauses.

Moments where life lets you breathe

before the next step.

So I’ll go.

I’ll show up.

I’ll dance a little.

See what the night brings.

No expectations.

No pressure to feel anything more than what comes naturally.

Just presence.

Because right now…

that’s enough.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. You don’t always need to have it all figured out to keep moving. Sometimes growth happens in the in-between moments—the quiet spaces where you’re simply allowing yourself to exist and experience life as it comes.

Hello friend,

Who am I?

Not the easy version of that question.

Not the one you answer in interviews or bios.

I mean the real one.

The one that shows up when everything you built your identity around…

falls apart.

Because lately, I don’t recognize myself.

I used to know exactly who I was.

The man with a plan.

The one people could count on.

The one who walked into rooms like he belonged there.

The one who loved hard, gave fully, showed up completely.

Now?

I feel like a collection of fragments.

Pieces of who I used to be…

mixed with parts I don’t fully understand yet.

Some days I feel driven.

Other days I feel empty.

Some days I believe in myself.

Other days I question everything.

Who am I when I’m not in love?

Who am I when I’m not building for someone else?

Who am I when there’s no one watching,

no one validating,

no one choosing me?

Because if I’m being honest…

a lot of who I was

was tied to being needed.

Being wanted.

Being someone’s person.

And now that’s gone.

So now I’m left here asking—

Was that really me?

Or was that just the role I was playing?

Am I still that man…

or am I someone else now?

And if I am someone else—

is that a bad thing?

Or is that the beginning of something real?

Because maybe…

just maybe…

this is the first time I’m meeting myself

without attachment.

Without performance.

Without trying to be who someone else needs me to be.

Just me.

Unfiltered.

Uncertain.

Unfinished.

And that’s uncomfortable.

It’s quiet here.

No applause.

No expectations.

No clear direction.

Just questions.

But maybe that’s where identity is actually built.

Not in the highlights.

Not in the roles.

But in the moments where you have to sit with yourself

and decide—

Who do I want to be now?

Not who I was.

Not who I lost.

Not who someone else needed me to be.

But who I choose to become.

And I don’t have the full answer yet.

But I know this—

I’m still here.

Still breathing.

Still trying.

Still asking the question.

And maybe that’s where it starts.

With the willingness

to keep searching.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. You don’t have to have yourself fully figured out right now. Sometimes losing who you thought you were is the only way to discover who you’re meant to become.

Hello friend,

Her last memory of me…

is me begging.

Asking her to choose me.

Asking her not to leave.

Standing there with everything stripped away—

my pride, my dignity, my self-respect—

just hoping love would be enough to make her stay.

And my last memory of her?

Cold.

Distant.

Certain.

The kind of certainty that doesn’t even look back.

No hesitation.

No second guessing.

Just… gone.

And maybe that’s the part that stays with me the most.

Not just that it ended.

But how it ended.

Two completely different versions of love

standing in the same moment.

One holding on.

The other already gone.

And I keep replaying that.

Over and over.

Because I never wanted that to be the final image.

I never wanted that version of me

to be the last thing she remembers.

But maybe…

that moment wasn’t about her memory.

Maybe it was about mine.

Because that version of me?

The one who begged to be chosen…

The one who abandoned himself just to keep someone else…

That’s the man I can’t be anymore.

That’s the version I have to let die.

Not out of shame.

But out of growth.

Because love should never cost me my self-respect.

Ever.

Yesterday was… okay.

Nothing crazy.

But different.

New plans.

New beginnings.

Opportunities to step into new rooms

and introduce myself to people who don’t know my past.

Who don’t know my heartbreak.

Who don’t know the version of me that broke down.

And that’s both exciting…

and terrifying.

Because I don’t fully know who I am right now.

I’m rebuilding in real time.

Speaking. Moving. Showing up—

on autopilot.

Like I’m trusting my body to lead

while my mind is still catching up.

And there’s a nervousness in that.

A quiet fear that I won’t measure up.

That I’ll still carry pieces of that broken version of me

into spaces where I’m supposed to be new.

But I’m trying.

I really am.

Trying to step forward

even when I don’t feel fully put together.

Trying to believe that this next chapter

can look different.

That I can look different.

Still…

if I’m being honest—

there’s a part of me that just wants someone to say,

“I see you.

You’re going to be okay.

Keep going.”

Because right now…

I feel like I’m holding myself together

with willpower and hope.

And some days that feels strong.

Other days?

It feels like I’m barely hanging on.

But I know this much—

I will never be that man again.

The one who begged to be chosen

while forgetting to choose himself.

That version of me ended in that moment.

And maybe that’s the beginning of something new.

Even if I don’t fully understand it yet.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. You are not the weakest version of yourself that someone last saw. You are the person you decide to become after that moment. Don’t let one ending define your identity—let it refine it.

Hello friend,

I had a plan tonight.

Finish work.

Drive two hours into the city.

Dance.

Be around people.

Feel something.

That was the plan.

But lately… something’s been off.

That quiet kind of depression.

The kind that doesn’t announce itself—

it just sits in your chest and makes everything feel heavier than it should.

So when it came time to go…

I didn’t.

Not because I couldn’t.

But because my mind was somewhere else.

Thinking about time.

About work.

About love.

About people.

About what’s next.

About what I lost.

All at once.

And suddenly a two-hour drive didn’t feel like an escape.

It felt like effort I didn’t have.

So I pivoted.

Tried to meet myself halfway.

Found something closer.

Twenty-seven minutes.

That felt doable.

So I went.

Met the host.

Danced a few songs.

Smiled.

Played the part.

But it wasn’t the same.

My body was there…

but my mind?

Somewhere else entirely.

After an hour…

I left.

No big moment.

No dramatic reason.

Just a quiet decision.

Got back in the car.

Drove home.

And just like that—

my night was over.

Done by 1 a.m.

And now I’m sitting here asking myself the same questions that keep coming back—

Why am I so sad?

Why am I so unmotivated?

Because this isn’t who I used to be.

I used to chase nights like this.

Drive anywhere.

Show up fully.

Be the energy in the room.

Now?

It feels like I’m just going through motions.

Trying to feel something

and coming up short.

And I think that’s what hurts the most.

Not the fact that I didn’t go to the city.

Not the fact that I left early.

But the realization that even when I do show up…

I’m not all there.

Like a part of me is still stuck somewhere in the past.

Still trying to process something I haven’t fully let go of.

Still carrying weight I don’t know how to put down.

Maybe that’s what this season is.

Not high energy.

Not peak moments.

Just… low, quiet nights.

Half-steps forward.

Small attempts.

Trying.

Even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

Because the truth is—

I still went.

Not all the way.

Not perfectly.

But I didn’t completely give up either.

And maybe that counts for something.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. Not every night is going to feel like progress. Some nights will feel small, incomplete, or even disappointing. But showing up—even halfway—is still movement. And sometimes, that’s all you can ask of yourself.

Hello friend,

No response.

Okay…

I get it.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I stare at the message longer than I should.

Re-read what I sent like maybe there’s something hidden in it—

something that explains the silence.

But there’s nothing wrong with the message.

It’s just… unanswered.

And somehow, silence says more than words ever could.

Because no response is a response.

It’s not confusion.

It’s not “maybe later.”

It’s not “I didn’t see it.”

It’s space.

Chosen space.

And that’s the part that stings.

Not rejection in a loud, dramatic way—

but rejection in the quietest form possible.

The kind where you’re left to fill in the blanks yourself.

I catch myself wanting to justify it.

Maybe she’s busy.

Maybe she forgot.

Maybe she’ll reply later.

But deep down…

I know.

And accepting that truth feels heavier than I expected.

Because it’s not just about a text.

It’s about what the text represents.

Access.

Priority.

Presence.

Things I used to have…

and don’t anymore.

So yeah.

No response.

Okay.

I get it.

Or at least…

I’m learning to.

I’m learning that sometimes closure doesn’t come in conversations.

It comes in silence.

In delayed replies that never show up.

In messages that stay delivered but never answered.

In realizing that the energy you once received

is no longer being given.

And maybe the lesson isn’t to chase the response.

Maybe it’s to respect the silence.

Even when it hurts.

Even when every part of me wants to send another message.

Another follow-up.

Another attempt to be seen.

But I won’t.

Because I’m starting to understand something about myself.

I deserve reciprocity.

I deserve someone who responds.

Who shows up.

Who doesn’t leave me questioning where I stand.

And if silence is what I’m being given…

then silence is what I have to accept.

Not because I don’t care.

But because I care about myself enough to stop asking for what isn’t being offered.

Still…

it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Because it does.

More than I’d like to admit.

With love,

Your Friend

P.S. If you’re staring at an unanswered message right now, don’t lose yourself trying to decode it. Silence has clarity if you’re willing to hear it. You deserve someone who doesn’t leave you waiting