That’s the question that keeps living in my head.

Not the big questions.

Not the future.

Not whether you love me.

Not even whether you miss me.

I want to know if it’s the same.

I want to know if I live in your little things the way you live in mine.

Because you’re everywhere.

And I’m so tired.

I’m tired of pretending you’re not.

I can be making coffee and think about you.

I can be making tacos and think about you.

I can be folding laundry and think about you.

I can be loading the dishwasher and think about you.

I can be standing in line at the grocery store and think about you.

I can be putting groceries away and think about you.

I can be looking for something I lost and think about you.

I can be scrolling past something online and think about you.

I can be driving and think about you.

I can hear a song and think about you.

See a truck like yours and think about you.

Pass a place we’ve been and think about you.

See something funny and immediately think about telling you.

You are in so many small pieces of my life that I don’t even notice it anymore until days like today. Days when I realize how much space you still take up. Days when I realize I’m carrying you around without even trying.

And I want to know.

God, I want to know.

Does it happen to you too?

Do I show up when I’m not there?

Do you ever see something and immediately think of me?

Do you ever reach for your phone and stop?

Do you ever hear a joke and think I’d laugh at it?

Do you ever drive somewhere and realize you’ve been thinking about me the whole way?

Do I exist in your ordinary life the way you exist in mine?

Or is it different?

Because if it’s different, I think that might break my heart.

And maybe that’s why I’ve never asked.

Because I don’t know what I’d do with the answer.

The truth is I’ve spent all day hoping. I cleaned. I worked. I stayed busy. I left my phone inside and turned my watch on do not disturb. I did everything I could think of to stop thinking about you, and somehow you still followed me through the entire day.

A piece of me kept hoping.

Maybe when I check my phone.

Maybe when I come back inside.

Maybe in a few minutes.

Maybe now.

And every time there was nothing.

I hate admitting that.

I hate how much it affects me.

I hate how much I miss you today.

I hate that I still want to hear from you.

I hate that part of me still hopes.

But none of that changes the truth.

The truth is you’re woven into my days. Not the dramatic moments. The little ones. The ordinary ones. The boring ones. The moments nobody sees.

And I don’t know if it’s the same for you.

I don’t know if I live in your little things.

I don’t know if you carry me around the way I carry you.

I don’t know if you miss me when you’re busy.

I don’t know if you think about me when you’re driving.

I don’t know if your heart reaches for me in quiet moments the way mine reaches for you.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Not knowing.

Because if I’m honest, I think I could survive almost any answer.

What I can’t seem to survive is wondering.

Wondering if I’m the only one carrying this much.

Wondering if I’m the only one who sees you everywhere.

Wondering if I’m the only one who still finds pieces of you in almost everything.

I am so tired.

So tired of carrying questions that don’t have answers.

So tired of missing someone who is still here.

So tired of hoping.

And yet somehow, despite all of it, despite how exhausted I am, despite how much it hurts, despite every wall I’ve tried to build...

I still wonder if you thought about me today too.

not to play games
but because she feared

men loved wanting her
more than actually having her

she used to believe
he was different

now she wasn’t so sure anymore

not because he stopped loving her.
that would have been easier.

no.
this was worse.

because he still loved her. still spoke to her in that voice that always made her defenses loosen without permission. still held her heart in his hands. she almost hated him for it. and yet lately she could feel something shifting beneath her feet like the earth itself no longer trusted the ground they stood on.

for twenty years she never questioned it.
never questioned him.
never questioned the pull between them.

she just believed.

believed that if the world cracked open beneath them. if every city burned to the ground. if every bridge collapsed into the sea. he would still crawl through the ashes looking for her. she believed that when everything else disappeared. she would still be the place his soul returned to first. because that was what he felt like to her. home.

but now there was this voice.
small at first.
barely a whisper.

now it screamed.

what if she made it all up.
what if she took ordinary love and turned it into prophecy.
what if he was never hers in the quiet sacred way she swore he was.
what if she was simply another soul beneath his finger tips.

mistaken safety for forever.
mistaken his reaching toward her as proof.
proof she was different.
proof she was chosen.

the thoughts hollowed her out.
turned her own memories against her.

suddenly every moment felt infected. every reassurance. every i love you. every soft look she once carried like scripture now collapsing in on itself inside her mind.

because the most terrifying thing about falling down a rabbit hole is that somewhere along the way you stop being able to tell if the monsters were ever real at all. or if you built them yourself.

She loved like a lit match dropped into gasoline. Fast. Beautiful. Dangerous to hold for too long.

She was reckless with herself and loyal to a fault. She pushed away the only person she ever truly wanted to stay.

This isn’t a fairytale.

The part that asks
even when she should already know.

When she gets in her head
and everything feels off
even if it isn’t.

Because she will ask.
More than she wants to.

And really,
she just needs you
to say it again.

Nothing big.
Just simple.

But are you sure
you won’t get tired of that?

Are you sure
you want all of her…

even this part…

The morning was pale light and tangled sheets, the world starting to move outside the bedroom walls. She shifted, stretching, ready to get up, but his arm tightened around her waist and pulled her back into his warmth. A sleepy sound against her skin. His lips brushing the hollow of her neck.

“Stay,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep. “Let’s stay in bed…just for a little while.”

The smile found her before she even realized it was there.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait for permission, for a moment that makes sense.
Just…hands at her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater, pulling her in like gravity.
She exhales a laugh, quiet, surprised. “There’s no music.”
But he’s already swaying, guiding her into movement like it doesn’t matter.
And suddenly, it doesn’t.

The fight still hung between them, thick and unfinished.
He was still mad. She could feel it in his quiet, in the way his jaw tightened when he spoke.
But when she moved past him, brushing the edge of his sleeve, his hand caught hers. Just for a second.
And then, without a word, he pressed a kiss to her forehead…soft, familiar, unwavering.
“I’m still mad,” he murmured.
“I know,” she whispered back.
But somehow, it hurt a little less.

She just needs an old tshirt, a messy bun, a hand to hold, and a little peace.

She tossed a pillow at him from across the couch. “For your terrible take,” she said flatly.

He caught it with a grin. “So violent.”

She raised a brow. “So wrong.”

He shrugged, tossing it back. “You know, most people just say ‘I disagree.’”

She rolled her eyes. “Most people are boring.”

He laughed, shaking his head, then stretched an arm over the back of the couch…finger hooking lazily around the collar of her shirt, tugging her slightly closer.

“Lucky for you,” he murmured, “I like a challenge.”

Her lips quirked. “Lucky for you, I’m undefeated.”

He didn’t argue. Just smirked, leaned in, and kissed her quiet.

Because her fire never needed taming…just someone who liked standing in the heat.

She was sprawled across the couch, legs draped over his lap, fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve as she fired off another question.

“If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

He didn’t even blink. “Tacos.”

She nodded, considering. “Solid choice. But what kind of tacos?”

He smirked. “You’re just gonna keep narrowing it down until I say something ridiculous, aren’t you?”

She grinned. “Obviously.”

A beat of silence. Then…

“What about you?” he asked, voice casual, but she felt the shift.

Her fingers stilled against her sleeve. She hadn’t expected him to ask. Not really.

She glanced at him, searching his face, and something warm settled in her chest.

“Ice cream,” she admitted. “Chocolate ice cream.”

He nodded, like that answer mattered. Like it told him something about her.

She smiled, and before she could stop herself…

“If you could live in any time period, which one would it be?”

He sighed, shaking his head, but there was laughter in his eyes.

“Alright, but you have to answer too.”

And just like that, the game continued.

She was cold.
Not in the way you think.

She was freezing.
Heat wouldn’t thaw her.

Not even the devil himself.
He tried.

She knew. 
He was a phone call away. 

She knew. 
She could pick up. 

She knew. 
She told herself she would. 

She didn't. 
She was too broken. 

And maybe, maybe he already knew.