That’s not betrayal.That’s timing.In your case, you have a lot going on.It’s understandable if you couldn’t say it out loud until you were ready.We all hold things back when we’re scared.What matters is choosing to come forward when it counts.
DeadStrings:You think?
StringTheory27:I’m guessing the woman you love doesn’t know something—something big.And you’re terrified it’ll make her walk away.
DeadStrings:Yeah.
StringTheory27:Listen to me:
If, after everything you two have been through, she can’t see you now—can’t even try to understand—then that rejection?That’s on her, not you.You hear me?
DeadStrings:Yeah.Any songs for courage?
StringTheory27:Always
Playlist: Songs for the Scared but Still Showing Up
“Brass in Pocket”—The Pretenders
Because confidence sometimes starts as a whisper before it becomes a roar.
“Heroes”—David Bowie
Even if just for one day.Even if you’re shaking the whole time.
“I Want to Break Free”—Queen
When you’re ready to stop hiding from yourself.
“Don’t Stop”—Fleetwood Mac
It’s not about forgetting—it’s about believing in tomorrow.
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice”—The Beach Boys
Hope in its most innocent form.It helps to believe in good endings.
ChapterOne Hundred Fifteen
Roderick
October 7th, 1997
I realized there’s no time like the present.No more waiting.No more circling the truth or pretending timing still matters.I’m done living in maybes.In almost.In silence.
I’m done with morsels through chats.
We’re doing this today.
I’m getting the rest of the albums.I’m bringing her back to my apartment.I’m putting all the cards on the table, even if they shake in my hand.Because not seeing her every day has started to ache in places I used to numb with drugs, and I don’t want to go back to that.
The absence of her—it’s like background noise that never entirely goes quiet.She’s everywhere and nowhere.Her voice in my head.Her laugh stuck to the walls.Her absence felt in the small, stupid things: making coffee and no one to share it with, hearing a new song and not sending it to her.
And not telling her that I’m the same man she’s been opening up to, night after night, message after message, has me wound so fucking tight I feel like I might unravel.I can’t breathe around her without tasting guilt and desire in equal parts.This double life, this fragile line between honesty and fear, has made my hands jitter and my mind frantic.But I’m done with that.I’m ready for her to know.
Everything.
I leave Otis outside, ask him to sit like he understands the gravity of what’s about to happen.He gives me this calm, patient look, tail giving a single thump against the sidewalk, like he’s saying,Go get her.I scratch behind his ears.“Don’t talk to strangers even when they promise pets.I’ll be back.”
