The Quiet that Stayed

Not everything that burns

is meant to keep you warm.

Some fires dazzle

bright, consuming,

teaching your heart to race

while quietly training your soul

to brace for absence.

Intensity is not intimacy.

Longing is not loyalty.

And pain, repeated often enough,

does not become proof of love

it becomes a language of survival.

There are those who awaken your depths

yet never stand beside you

when the ground shifts.

They speak in futures,

in beautiful abstractions,

in promises shaped like hope

and leave you alone

to carry their weight.

And then there are others

quiet, disciplined, steady.

They do not ignite storms.

They build shelter.

They worry when you are weak, not from fear of loss,

but because care has taught them to notice breath,

to listen for silence,

to move when stillness would be easier.

They do not require your suffering to feel close.

They do not mistake distance

for destiny.

They show you without spectacle or confusion

that love does not vanish.

Wisdom does not shout.

It arrives as peace.

It asks nothing dramatic of you.

It does not demand you wait, shrink, or earn presence through endurance.

If your heart has learned to build a wall, do not call it cold.

Walls are what remain

after you understand

the cost of leaving doors unguarded.

You are not wrong

for recognizing goodness

even when you cannot receive it fully.

You are not broken

for refusing to reopen wounds

in the name of hope.

Let this be the awakening:

Love that lasts does not ask you to chase. Care that is real does not disappear.

And the rarest gift

is not intensity

it is presence.

Choose the path

that brings rest to your body,

clarity to your spirit,

and peace to your soul.

Everything else,

no matter how brightly it burns, will eventually leave you standing alone in the dark.

And….

Presence is Not Loud