One day

 One day, as the betrayer, you will realize the

opportunity to rebuild is gone. Not

because your wife refused to heal but

because you refused to do the real work.

Every universe

Nona shared this with us about Mom...

i think about us

in every universe.

the parallel realities

we're still together in.

i am smiling at you and

you are smiling back at me

and for a moment i'm whole.

yet i know somewhere

i am still losing you.

in some version

our hearts still break.

yet here i am so grateful

that you could exist

in so many places.

and i promise that

you are loved by me

in all of them.

~sara rian

Regret

Some people are not

sorry for what they did.

They are uncomfortable

that you know who they

really are. They do not

regret the betrayal. They

regret the exposure.

Built

 Doesn't matter how wife material

you are, some men will always

choose a hotel over a house. They

simply weren't built for what you

were offering.

Outloved

 You did not fail that relationship.

You outloved it. There is a

difference between two people

failing together and one person

loving far beyond what the other

could ever return. God saw which

one you were.

Initiative

 Major cheat code in life:

Be the one who reaches out.

Text first. Call first.

Plan first. Initialize first.

Most people wait to be

chosen. Be the chooser.

Connection requires initiative.

Friendship requires effort.

Love requires action.

Stop waiting to be picked.

Start picking.

Initiative is attractive.

Forgets

He Forgets

It's like he forgets how smart I am.

As if I wouldn't notice

the pause before the answer,

the eyes that look past mine

searching for a safer version of the story.

As if I didn't feel it first - 

that small shift in the air,

the tightening low in my stomach,

the quiet alarm my body sounds

long before the words arrive.

He forgets

I have survived worse than a lie.

That my instincts were forged

in fire and fracture.

They do not misfire now.

He forgets how relentless I am -

how I will turn over every stone,

trace every thread,

sit in the dark with a question

until it speaks.

He thinks I will take

"his truth"

wrapped neatly,

offered gently,

and call it home.

He mistakes my silence for belief.

My patience for blindness.

My love for naivety.

He does not realize 

how loudly dishonesty hums to me.

How obvious the cracks are

when someone is building a story

instead of telling one.

He forgets - 

I am not asking

because I am unsure.

I am asking

to see if he will choose honesty

when given the chance.

And what hurts most

is not the lie.

It's the quiet arrogance

of thinking

I would not know.

And I am tired 

of reminding him...

Who I am.