I lean back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. His presence lingers in my mind—steady, unshaken, always there for others. But who is there for him?
Me: “You always look like you’ve got it all under control.”
Him: *chuckles* “Do I?”
Me: “Yeah. You never seem to need help. Never complain. Always reliable.”
Him: “Is that a good thing?”
Me: *pauses* “I used to think so. But now, I don’t know. I wonder… does it ever get lonely?”
He looks away, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. It’s as if I’ve nudged a door that’s been shut for too long.
Him: “Lonely?” *he exhales, shaking his head slightly* “No. I mean… I don’t know. It’s not like I need anyone.”
Me: “Or maybe you just don’t ask?”
He stays quiet. I can tell I’ve hit something deeper.
Him: “Tried once. Didn’t go well.”
Me: “What happened?”
Him: *shrugs* “People like knowing I can handle things. But the moment I needed something, they weren’t sure what to do with me.”
Me: “That’s unfair.”
Him: “It is what it is. Besides, you hear it all the time—‘Be a man,’ ‘Stay strong,’ ‘Don’t be too emotional.’ You do that long enough, it becomes easier to just… not need.”
My heart clenches. How many times have we assumed strength where there was just practiced silence?
Me: “But you do need.”
Him: *softly* “Yeah.”
A quiet settles between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. And I wonder—how many people in my life have built walls, not because they don’t want love, but because they’re afraid to ask for it?
So here’s a question—how often do we mistake silence for strength?
Me: “You always look like you’ve got it all under control.”
Him: *chuckles* “Do I?”
Me: “Yeah. You never seem to need help. Never complain. Always reliable.”
Him: “Is that a good thing?”
Me: *pauses* “I used to think so. But now, I don’t know. I wonder… does it ever get lonely?”
He looks away, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. It’s as if I’ve nudged a door that’s been shut for too long.
Him: “Lonely?” *he exhales, shaking his head slightly* “No. I mean… I don’t know. It’s not like I need anyone.”
Me: “Or maybe you just don’t ask?”
He stays quiet. I can tell I’ve hit something deeper.
Him: “Tried once. Didn’t go well.”
Me: “What happened?”
Him: *shrugs* “People like knowing I can handle things. But the moment I needed something, they weren’t sure what to do with me.”
Me: “That’s unfair.”
Him: “It is what it is. Besides, you hear it all the time—‘Be a man,’ ‘Stay strong,’ ‘Don’t be too emotional.’ You do that long enough, it becomes easier to just… not need.”
My heart clenches. How many times have we assumed strength where there was just practiced silence?
Me: “But you do need.”
Him: *softly* “Yeah.”
A quiet settles between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. And I wonder—how many people in my life have built walls, not because they don’t want love, but because they’re afraid to ask for it?
So here’s a question—how often do we mistake silence for strength?