The World Quiets Down

Last weekend, I rode up to Colorado to see a dear friend of mine who recently confessed her love for me. It threw me backwards. Not because I didn’t love her back. It was more because I guess I never really understood that it was a possibility. And ever since she said that, my mind has been absolutely swimming.

I went to see her last weekend. We had an amazing night on Friday. When I went back to the hotel, I couldn’t sleep. So, while lying awake in bed, I wrote this to her:

I feel complete.

Not happy, although I am. Not excited, although there's certainly some of that too.

Complete.

There's a part of me that has always felt a little barren, a little unfinished. A place inside that never quite settled. I've spent years trying to fill it with achievement, motorcycles, work, writing, relationships, alcohol, survival, and sheer stubbornness.

And yet it remained.

Then I came to La Junta.

Not for a place. For a person.

Someone who has existed in my life for years. Someone I have always loved in one form or another. Someone whose timing never quite aligned with mine. Or maybe more honestly, someone I was never healthy enough to love properly.

Back then, I was a mess.

I was drinking myself toward death. Maybe not intentionally, but certainly not accidentally. I wouldn't have been capable of giving you the relationship you deserved because I couldn't even manage a healthy relationship with myself.

But we see each other now.

Fully.

Openly.

Honestly.

And something happens when you’re near: The world quiets down.

The chaos in my head fades into the background.

The endless calculations stop.

My soul trembles in your presence.

It's like that sensation behind your eyes when you're trying not to cry. Not sadness. Not even emotion exactly. Just that trembling somewhere deep inside your mind where something larger than words is trying to exist.

That's what being near you feels like.

Like something deep within me recognizes something deep within you.

Like a magnet finding another magnet.

Like a missing piece quietly sliding into place.

I don't know what any of it means.

Neither do you.

And honestly, I don't care.

I don't need a label for it.

I don't need a contract.

I don't need certainty.

I just know that when you’re near, the world feels right.

And for someone who has spent most of her life fighting the world, that's saying something.

You still have a boyfriend.

And that's okay.

I'm not asking for ownership.

I'm not asking for exclusivity.

I'm not even asking for monogamy.

I'm asking for presence.

I'm asking for priority.

I'm asking for your hand as we walk through this life together, however that journey unfolds.

Because the truth is that freedom matters. And freedom means people get to choose. People get to explore. People get to be exactly who they are.

The cost of freedom is that sometimes people are free.

And honestly? I don't fucking care.

I just know that somewhere along the way, two people who have both walked through hell found each other again.

And that feels pretty damn good.

I left that weekend feeling uneasy about everything. Well, so did she. And we’ve talked more. A lot, really. We’ve been texting every waking moment. Trying to understand this. She asked me what being my wife entails. I tried to explain it. I tried to explain that it doesn’t entail anything. That it means just being there, prioritizing each other. That I don’t care about who takes out the trash or who does fucking what. I don’t care about structure, and I’m not walking into this with any expectations. I simply want to be around her. I want to matter. I want to see her eyes light up when I walk in the room. I want her to see mine light up in response. I want to know that I can reach for her in the dark and that she’ll feel me reaching and extend her hand. I have no expectations. Especially around roles, fuck that. I want someone who is comfortable walking through this life with me. And for the first time in a very long time, I think it might be possible.

Is it scary, pulling down the veil and revealing your true self? Yeah, it’s fucking scary as hell.

Is it scary pulling down the armor and inviting someone else in? Yeah, it’s fucking scary as hell.

And yet, it feels right.