Musical Accompaniment: Finally // Beautiful Stranger - Halsey + Wherever You Would Call Me - Zaini

 

I know the world doesn’t owe me love.

But it’s hard to keep holding out hope for something you can’t prove exists—especially when the very things that make you powerful also make you intimidating.

It’s exhausting to appear wise.

To stay resilient.

To be the fearless fool with a knowing smile while quietly unraveling.

To be the lighthouse, all while wondering if you’ll ever be pulled to shore yourself.

There’s a loneliness that lingers when you’re forced to confront the truth:

That someone else’s flicker of hope can still collapse into fear.

That maybe… you really are unlovable.

That maybe you were the one thing too bright, too much, too soon.

That realization is brutal.

But in the end, the gift wasn’t the man—it was the mirror.

A mirror reflecting all the ways I abandon myself when I’m afraid.

A mirror exposing how much I still romanticize the idea of rescue.

That maybe, deep down, I’m still chasing Disney endings and calling it destiny.

And yet… this is where the real alchemy began.

I’ve done my shadow work.

I’ve made peace with the darkness.

I hold the orb now—the one no one else has.

The one you earn when you stop begging to be saved and force yourself to rise—again.

And I know this much:

I’ve been loved. Deeply. Fiercely.

Not romantically, but fully—through friendship that saw me in my entirety.

That kind of love doesn’t vanish. It anchors you.

When I was small—before we moved away from my aunt—I knew pure love.

The kind that holds you while you’re still forming.

That memory has been my foundation for over thirty years.

Proof that love doesn’t need to last forever to leave something eternal behind.

And then there’s faith.

Faith in God, much like faith in love.

What is it? Why do I need it? Can I trust it not to mislead me?

And if I can’t, does that mean I have weak faith? The guilt is exhausting.

It’s exhausting to be relied upon, to pretend I have unshakable confidence, to appear wise for the sake of the kids—when really, I’m just a fearless fool.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe I’m not here to chase love—but to embody it.

Not to be rescued—but to rise.

And maybe… just maybe… I’ll still get to ride off into the sunset.

Not in a fairytale.

But in truth.

With my reckless, perfectly imperfect counterpart by my side.

However fleeting.

However flawed.

But real.

3.22.25