No more edits. No more armor.
I am tired of the stories we tell to explain ourselves, and even more tired of the ones I keep private to pad my own failures. We are not puzzles to be solved. Most attempts to make sense of us are just careful edits—leaving things out, smoothing over what doesn’t fit, calling it coherence.
Simplicity lives in your eyes, in the way you close them after the first sip of coffee in the morning. It’s there again in the quiet heat between us, in the places you don’t look at directly but feel anyway when my hand learns where to pause.
Love is so complicated, and it shouldn’t be. Or maybe it should. Maybe it’s the one mystery that earns its difficulty. How does one lay themselves open and still feel safe? How does one see another’s fragility and not immediately begin calculating the cost?
Safe and home were words I heard other people use. Then I woke beside you, your hair warm against my face, and understood that they were not ideas at all. They were experiences. And they had a name I could finally say without explaining.
5 responses to “Unarmored”
Love is complicated, but maybe that’s what makes it meaningful. The vulnerability it demands—being open while still feeling safe—is a delicate balance. When we see someone’s fragility, it’s tempting to pull back, but perhaps the beauty of love lies in staying open, even with the risks. It’s in the uncertainty that we find the depth. What a wonderful writing!
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I think staying open without trying to resolve the risk is the hard part. It’s a tension I felt was worthy to leave unresolved. I appreciate how carefully you read this. Thank you for taking the time and for commenting.
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It’s my pleasure, always. I hope you’re well.
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Love this piece. It is so powerful. Thank you!
Love is certainly complicated at times but it can also be fiery and simple in others.
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Thank you. I think the fire is often where the simplicity lives. I appreciate your comment.
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