some people learn early
that love is something you negotiate for
that warmth has a price
and the price is
how much of yourself
you’re willing to leave outside the door
so they practice
holding back
just enough
to never be the one
who needed it more
and if you loved one of them
you know the feeling
of reaching across a room
that kept quietly rearranging itself
so the distance stayed the same
you know what it is
to feel everything
in a house that had decided
feeling was a liability
to cry in a room
and have the room
not change
to be told
without words
that your softness
was the problem
that needed solving
the ones who never reach first
are not stronger
they are just
further from themselves
than they know how to say
and the silence they kept
so carefully
so strategically
so they would never be
the one who needed more
that silence
didn’t protect them
it just
practiced on you
until it had nowhere left to go
but inward
and you kept reaching anyway
the way you reach for a light switch
in a room you’ve lived in long enough
to stop needing to see it
not because you were naive
but because that’s what it looks like
when love hasn’t learned
to be suspicious of itself yet
your face gave you away
every time
and that was never the embarrassing thing
in the room
it was the only unguarded moment
either of you had
and when you walk out
still shaking
still open
still fully capable
of feeling the whole weight
of what just happened
that is not the wound
that is the only thing
in that entire room
that was ever truly alive
and someday
someone will reach back
before you’ve finished reaching
and you will understand
for the first time
what it was supposed to feel like
the whole time
you weren’t asking for too much
you were just asking
the wrong person
and leaving
was the first thing you did
that they couldn’t score
—lyra moon (softness was never the thing that broke)
august 31, 2026