Everything&Nothing: A Collection of Thoughts

I think people sometimes get the wrong idea about me because of the things I write and post. Someone recently told me that some of my content can come across as clingy or desperate. And I’ve thought about that a lot, because yes, I write about loneliness. I write about wanting people in my life. I write about friendship, relationships, crushes, rejection, vulnerability, and wanting someone to talk to. But I’m not desperate for attention. What I’m looking for is intention. There’s a difference. I don’t need somebody texting me every day or being available all the time. I don’t need instant replies or constant contact. People have jobs, kids, energy levels, stress, and sometimes a text just… gets forgotten. I get that. What I’m trying to understand is whether there’s an intentional effort to be in each other’s lives, or whether we just sort of exist in the same orbit by convenience. Because friendship, to me, requires some intention. Maybe you don’t text much, but every so of...

Whenever people find out I grew up in a military family, they almost always have the same reaction. "That must've been awesome." And they're right. I've seen places most people only dream about. I've walked through Rome, stood on the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast, wandered Capri and Anacapri, watched master glassblowers at work in Italy, snowboarded in Roccaraso, explored Okinawa's aquarium, and driven across the United States more times than I can remember. I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything. But whenever people tell me how lucky I was, I can't help but think... You're only seeing half the story. Nobody talks about the goodbyes. When your parent is in the military, your life runs on a countdown. Three years. Sometimes a little longer. Sometimes a little shorter. You learn the streets. You learn the school. You make friends. You finally start feeling like you belong. Then someone hands your parents new orders. The boxes co...

There's a strange kind of loneliness that no one really prepares you for. It's not the loneliness of being disliked. It's the loneliness of realizing that people can genuinely enjoy your company, laugh at your jokes, hug you when they see you, ask how you've been... and still never think to include you in their day. That realization doesn't happen all at once. It sneaks up on you. One day you notice that your phone hasn't buzzed all afternoon. Then you realize it hasn't buzzed much all week. You send a meme to someone because it reminded you of them. They leave it on read. You wake up on Saturday morning, glance at your notifications, and there isn't a single message asking what you're up to. Not because anyone is angry with you. Not because you've done anything wrong. Just... because. When we're young, friendship is built on proximity. School puts us together. Sports put us together. We spend entire summers wandering neighborhood...

People tell you not to dwell on the past. I understand why. You can't live there. You can't change it. You can't build tomorrow by staring at yesterday. But they never tell you what to do when yesterday is where all the people still are. You look back and every empty space in your life used to be occupied. Weeknights weren't quiet. Weekends weren't something to survive. There was always a phone call, a friend knocking at the door, a last minute plan, a reason to leave the house. Back then, you complained you were bored. Now you'd give almost anything to be that bored again. The funny thing about getting older is that life doesn't just take people away. It teaches you. It teaches you not to spend money you don't have. It teaches you to be careful with your heart. It teaches you that some risks aren't worth taking twice. Little by little, you become wiser. Little by little, you become smaller. Payday used to mean possibility. Now it means b...

I met this woman that I really admire. She's sweet. She's smart. She's strong. And I admire her in ways I don't think she understands. I'm glad we met. I'm glad we've talked and gotten to know each other, even if only a little. But at the same time... I'm saddened by the thought that she's been scarred and hurt so many times in ways that should have never happened to begin with. Especially by people who looked at her and told her they cared. I'm not a perfect man. I make mistakes. I always will. But unfortunately... to some degree or another... I have to carry their sins. Because at this point, she doesn't want a relationship. She doesn't miss it. She doesn't want it. And I understand why. Who would miss being in a relationship when most of the relationships you've been in have been controlling... manipulative... abusive? Who wants to go back to something that's hurt them more often than it's loved them? Who wa...

Some people have a beautiful smile. Hers is different. It's the kind that stays with you long after she's gone. The kind that finds its way back when you're driving home from work, and before you even realize it, you're smiling too. It's the kind of smile you'd drive a hundred miles through the middle of the night just to see. The kind that makes a bad day feel a little less heavy. The kind that quiets the noise in your head without saying a single word. She's got the kind of smile that, when it's gone, you feel it. You notice it before anyone else. You wonder what's weighing on her mind. You catch yourself searching for the smallest reason to bring it back. Not because she owes it to the world. But because the world just seems a little brighter when it's there. It's Christmas morning before the wrapping paper hits the floor. It's the first warm day after a long winter. It's hearing your favorite song when you didn't e...

I came across a post the other day that asked a simple question: "At this point in your life, do you still believe your person is out here?" The more I thought about it, the more I realized my answer wasn't yes. It wasn't no, either. It was... I don't know. Not because I've stopped believing in love, but because I've reached a point where even finding a dependable friend feels difficult. People hear that and immediately assume you're talking about romance. I'm not. I'm talking about something much smaller. A text message. A phone call. Someone saying, "Hey, you want to play a game tonight?" or "You want to grab something to eat this weekend?" Nothing grand. Nothing dramatic. Just someone thinking about you without you having to remind them you exist. When you're younger, friendships happen almost automatically. School, work, college, mutual friends. You're constantly around people, so connection doesn...

When I was younger, I used to look forward to Saturdays. Even into my twenties, even my early thirties, the weekend meant something. It meant plans. It meant possibility. It meant somebody calling and asking, "What are we doing tonight?" Then life happened. The people you used to spend every weekend with found partners. Had kids. Started families. Built lives that naturally filled their calendars. Before you realize it, everybody has somewhere to be on Saturday. Everybody except you. At first, it doesn't seem so bad. You learn how to entertain yourself. You go to the movies alone. You eat at restaurants alone. You take little road trips just because you can. There's nobody waiting on you. Nobody expecting you home. Nobody asking where you've been. It feels like freedom. For a while. Then, somewhere along the way, that freedom quietly changes shape. It stops feeling like freedom and starts feeling like a prison with invisible walls. You get tired of exp...

You ever take the long way somewhere simply because you ain't got nowhere to be? Nobody's texting your phone.  Nobody's asking you to hang out.  Nobody's expecting you anytime soon. So you take the long way. Not because it's faster.  Not because it's prettier.  Just because it takes more time. More time before you have to pull back into the driveway.  More time before those four walls remind you that you're alone. In a strange way, it feels like you're putting distance between yourself and the loneliness, even though you know it'll be waiting when you get back. The older you get, the more you realize how quickly people's lives fill up. Kids. Families. Careers. Other friends. When you're single, you don't really want to do the "single people" stuff anymore because what you really want is someone to share your life with. And your friends in relationships? They're building lives of their own. As they should. So you ...

That's simple. Because you captivate me. You make me want to know how your day's going. You make me wonder if, when you're sitting by yourself, you think about me and smile. Why you? Because listening to you talk soothes me. Talking to you is one of the easiest things in the world. When you talk about the things that matter to you, I hear the emotion in your voice. I hear the passion behind your words. You're a good person. Why you? Because being in your presence feels warm. It feels right. Why you? Because I like you. And more than anything, I just want the chance to get to know you. To see who you are beyond the conversations we've had. To see if there might be... even just a friendship. Why you? Because you're you.

I don't know if I should text you because I don't know if seeing my name light up on your phone makes you smile. There are times I want to pick up the phone and call you... but I don't know if that's okay. I don't want to take up more room in your life than I'm supposed to. So I don't know if I should text you. Or call you. Or ask you to hang out. Because as much as I want to... I don't know how any of it is being received. When you're getting to know somebody... there's always that moment where you stop wondering if you should... and you just know. Maybe it's an unprompted good morning. Maybe it's a random phone call after work. Maybe it's a meme at midnight because something  made them think of you. Something. Anything. I'm more than happy to reach across the void. I just don't know if I should. Because reaching across that void... means somebody has to reach back. Not every time. Not the same way. Just... e noug...

How do you tell somebody you like that you think about them all the time without sounding crazy? How do you tell somebody you like that every time they smile, your day gets just a little bit brighter? How do you tell somebody you like that the quiet moments somehow mean the most? That sitting beside them in comfortable silence can say more than an entire conversation ever could? How do you tell somebody you like these things without sounding like too much? Without sounding needy. Without sounding clingy. Without sounding like you're rushing toward something that isn't there yet. It's not that I need to tell them. It's not that I have to. It's that I want to. I want them to know that I genuinely enjoy who they are. I want to know their personality, their spirit, their strengths, and even the parts of themselves they try to hide. I want to know what makes them laugh until they can't breathe. What makes them smile without thinking. What makes them retre...

I think somewhere along the way, I stopped looking for the ending. Life has a funny way of teaching you that the moments we spend chasing are rarely the ones we end up missing. These days... I'd rather know how your day went. Not just the exciting parts. Tell me the part of your day that nobody asks about. The song you played twice. The wrong turn that somehow made you laugh. The little story you almost didn't tell because you didn't think it mattered. Those are the things I'd remember. If you need to run errands, I'll come with you. If you feel like taking a drive, I'll grab my keys. Truth is... I don't really care where we end up. I've started believing it was never about getting somewhere. It was always the conversation. The laughter. The quiet moments that somehow never felt quiet at all. Funny how life keeps simplifying things. What I want... is much simpler than that. I don't need all the answers today. I don't need to know what...

I don't dream about weddings. I dream about Tuesday. About hearing, "I'm on my way home." About picking up two dinners without having to ask. About someone saving me the last slice, because they knew I'd want it. People think loneliness is an empty house. It isn't. Loneliness is realizing everyone you love already has somewhere they're supposed to be. And you're grateful they let you visit. But eventually... you go home. Alone. I don't dream about forever. I dream about having just one ordinary Tuesday where nobody has to leave.

People always assume that when you're single, you're looking for love. Marriage . Sex. A relationship. A future. Sometimes it isn't any of those things. Sometimes you just want someone to enjoy your company enough to want to do it again. That's it. Not because you're trying to move in. Not because you're trying to play house. Not because you're planning your future together. Just because it feels good knowing that somebody genuinely enjoys being around you. The older I get, the more I realize that's the part people overlook. Loneliness isn't always about sleeping in an empty bed. Sometimes it's eating dinner alone for the fifth night this week. Sometimes it's realizing your phone hasn't buzzed all day. Sometimes it's wondering if anybody would even notice if you disappeared for a weekend. And sometimes it's something as simple as asking someone if they'd like to grab dinner again. If they say yes, great. If they sa...

Summer came back around like it always does same sun same heat same sky stretched just a little too long …but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore It used to Back when days didn’t end they just slipped into night when the light finally let go Back when you didn’t check the time you just ran with it Feet hitting pavement hot enough to sting lungs burning like catching your breath meant losing something So you didn’t You kept going Sweat in your eyes dirt on your hands grass stains that didn’t matter Nothing did Except right now Everything felt bigger then colder sweeter louder like the world hadn’t learned how to rush yet We stayed out we pushed it we stretched every second thin And when the light started fading —that was it— That quiet shift You knew Run Race the street lights don’t get caught don’t be late don’t let the day end without you Run Like losing meant something Like if you didn’t make it back in time you left a piece of it behind … Nobody tells you which summer is t...

If there were a way to forget you, I think I’d take it. Not out of anger— you were never something I needed to erase. You were… good. And that’s the problem. Because now everything feels like it’s missing something I can’t get back. The world didn’t fall apart— it just dimmed. Like someone turned the color down and left me here to notice. I don’t want to forget you. I just don’t want to feel the space you left behind. Because you weren’t just there— you made things feel… alright. You made the silence less loud. The days less empty. And now it’s all back. That quiet. That gray. That weight that doesn’t go away. If there were a way to forget— I would. Not because I didn’t care… but because I still do.

Sometimes I want to touch the edge of the abyss to feel the serenity of its deafening silence the cold of nothing where sanity thins and madness feels the same It calls to me not loud never loud just a whisper that sounds like relief I know what it is I know what it takes but I owe it in the end I always will And still I wonder what a single touch would feel like

The man he would never become, visions of a life never lived, a reality built on what-ifs and regret. He stands in the ruins of almost, a quiet monument to hesitation, breathing in the dust of abandoned paths. The ghost of his potential lingers nearby, not haunting… just watching, as if it already knows how this ends. Moments flicker behind his eyes, unlived days casting long shadows, stretching into a future that never arrives. Every choice, a fracture. Every pause, a burial. Every “later”… a door that never opened again. And now he walks through a kingdom of echoes, where everything speaks of what could have been— and nothing ever was.

Sometimes the thought slips in quiet, like a shadow that knows the room better than I do wrap it around a tree end it cut the film before the credits roll real quick no questions no aftermath —but then— something in me pushes back If you do that… that’s it. No resolution No twist No proof that any of this ever meant something just… fade to black mid-sentence And that’s when it hits me pain isn’t some glitch in the system it is the system it’s the tax for being conscious for feeling for knowing you're here It’s ugly, yeah not the kind you frame or post or romanticize but the kind that grips you and forces you to notice this is life not polished not fair not gentle but real And maybe that’s the point because being alive isn’t about it being easy or even good all the time it’s about staying on the ride even when it dips even when it rattles your bones even when you’re white-knuckling the whole damn thing because you don’t get to see the end unless you stay and for better o...

I wake up with something heavy that doesn’t have a name It sits there through the morning through the hours I trade for numbers that never seem to stretch far enough I do things the right way not for applause just because I don’t know how not to Still— the days pass like closed doors and I’m left wondering what any of it builds toward There’s a silence that grows when you start choosing carefully Less noise less chaos but also less voices less invitations less proof that you exist in anyone else’s day People talk about plans like sparks that never catch and I’ve learned some fires are only meant to feel warm for a second before they disappear I could learn the other way how to smile at the right time say the right things treat moments like transactions but something in me resists I don’t want to become someone who feels hollow just to feel included So I stay where I am trying showing up holding more than I say and sometimes it spills out anyway quietly where no one sees I d...

I wish I didn’t feel the way I feel about you. You think I chose this? You said you’re tired. Tired of men. Tired of relationships. I heard you. But do you think I woke up one day and decided yeah… let me fall for her today? No. It was the way you laugh. The way you hum when we play. The way your voice lifts when you get excited like the world just handed you something small and perfect. I love listening to you. Even when you say something goofy, even when you trip over your words— I already know what you mean. I already know you. So how do you think I feel? I don’t want this any more than you want me to have it. That’s the part that eats at me. Because I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want you to feel cornered. All I want… is to care about you. To know you. To be there when you’re winning and when everything falls apart. When you’re excited, I feel it. When you’re hurting, I want to be there for it. Not to fix it. Just… to be there. And I’m not asking for promises. No...

I learned early how to lock my face into something unbreakable. Not because I was strong— but because the room only respected stone. So I became it. A statue with a pulse, a clenched jaw dressed up as discipline, a man-shaped container for everything I wasn’t allowed to spill. They said— don’t cry. don’t need. don’t reach. So I swallowed softness like it was contraband, hid it behind half-jokes and shrugs, buried it under “I’m good.” But I’m not. Sometimes I want to hug like the world isn’t watching. Sometimes I want to hold someone and not feel like I’m breaking character. Sometimes a song hits and I don’t want to explain why my chest feels like it’s caving in. Yeah— I liked Mulan. Still do. Yeah— I listened to NSYNC. Not as a joke. Not for anybody else. Just because I felt something. And that’s the part they don’t understand— feeling doesn’t make me less dangerous. It makes me real. You wanna test that? We can step outside. We can measure strength the old way— knuckles, b...

You’re right. I should apologize. It’s not like you showed up and signed some contract to be seen the way I see you. So yeah— I’m sorry. I’m sorry that somewhere between the hours, the conversations, the nothing moments that turned into something— I found you. Not just a person… but a good one. I’m sorry your personality doesn’t sit quietly in the background. I’m sorry it pulls. I’m sorry it makes me stop and think, what if… I’m sorry you became someone I could actually picture a life with— not the fantasy version, not the rushed version, but the slow-built, intentional kind that people swear doesn’t exist anymore. I’m sorry that when I wake up, you cross my mind like a habit I didn’t try to form. I’m sorry I care how your day went. I’m sorry I listen— really listen— like your words actually mean something. I’m sorry I respect the way your mind works, like it’s something worth studying instead of just passing through. I’m sorry your excitement became something I look forwar...

It’s after midnight. The kind of quiet that makes you think too much. I’m sitting here staring at the moon, and the only thing running through my head is this— did I already miss it? Because at 37, people love to remind you the odds don’t get better. Like there’s some invisible timer counting down on your life, and every year that passes, you’re just… less likely. And I hate that thought. But it sticks. Because I know what it feels like to have someone there. To wake up next to someone who actually gives a shit. To have those late-night conversations that don’t need a reason. And now it’s just… quiet. You try to tell yourself it’s temporary. That it’ll come around. But every time you meet someone, it’s the same story— not a match, not interested, or just playing games like any of this is a joke. And you start wondering if maybe that was it. That one chance. That one window. And now you’re just… here. Looking up at the same moon every night, thinking maybe there’s someone ou...

They hand you a title like it’s iron. Be a man. No instructions. Just penalties. Stand tall. But not too tall. Speak up. But don’t get loud. Hold your ground. But don’t make a scene. You learn quick— anger is dangerous unless it’s useful. violence is wrong unless it’s needed. silence is strength until it looks like weakness. They measure you with rulers that bend. “You’re not a real man if—” fill in the blank like a threat. Like a dare. Like a verdict already written. So you swallow it. The disrespect. The sideways comments. The quiet tests. You nod. You breathe. You calculate. Because one wrong move and suddenly— you’re not controlled, you’re a problem. But one right move at the wrong time? Still a problem. You become something else over time. Not soft. Not hard. Tempered. Like steel that’s been heated cooled heated again— until it forgets what it was before the fire. And still— somewhere in the noise— you’re asking a question no one answers: How the hell do I be everythin...

I wake up and the world already has a list for me. A man is supposed to be this, supposed to have that, supposed to stand taller, earn more, own more, be more. And I sit there with sleep still in my eyes wondering if I missed the day they handed out the blueprint. Because I try. Every day, I try. Not the kind of try that gets applause, not the kind that turns heads, just the quiet kind that doesn’t break the surface. The kind nobody sees. They say men are providers. But what do you call a man who’s still building the table with splinters in his hands? They say men shouldn’t live like this, shouldn’t want things like that, shouldn’t spend time escaping into games, shouldn’t fall short of a number someone else decided matters. Height. Money. Status. Space. Like worth can be measured in inches and paychecks and square footage. And I wonder— if I ever reach those peaks, those polished, distant pinnacles, will they finally look at me and say, there he is. Or will I just be anoth...

They told me— stay in school, keep your head down, do the work, and one day the world would open like a door that had been waiting for me. They said there was a life on the other side of effort— steady hands, steady pay, a home that didn’t shake when the wind changed, a woman, some kids, a future that didn’t feel like it could be taken. They said dream like it was something you could build. So I built. Brick by brick, hour by hour, paycheck by paycheck— I built something that looked like freedom. And then one day a man I’ve never met in a room I’ll never see decided numbers mattered more than names— and just like that my life became a line item. Cut. Not because I failed. Not because I broke. Not because I didn’t earn it. Just… cut. I’ve been laid off so many times I stopped calling it bad luck and started calling it what it is— a system that eats its own builders to keep the lights pretty for people who never touched the ground. They told me the dream was real. But standin...

I don’t want the kind of love that kicks the door in, loud and reckless, tracking mud across the floor just to leave it behind when it gets bored. I’ve seen that kind of fire before. It burns like it’s trying to prove something and dies the same way. No… I want the kind that pulls up a chair without asking, sits beside me like it’s always been there, like it never needed an introduction. I hope we become best friends first. Not in that watered-down, half-committed, “let’s see where this goes” way people use when they’re afraid to mean something— I mean real. The kind where I reach for my phone and your name is already halfway dialed before I even know why. The kind where nothing is planned, but somehow we’ve built entire days out of doing absolutely nothing. I want to laugh with you over shit that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. Build something stupid like Lego sets and treat it like architecture. Lose sleep on purpose because the night feels too short when you’re in it...

I can’t make you fall for me. I can’t make you see what I see. I can’t make you understand that I’d love you in ways the men before me never even considered. I’d learn you. Study you. Become fluent in the way you need to be loved. But I can’t make you believe that. And I can’t make you ready. All I can do is be here. The rest… is on you to see. And for as long as you want— I’ll be around.