A Quiet Kind of Thunder

I guess taking normal for granted is part of being human

He bites his lip. Sometimes I don’t feel strong enough for this world.

‘Oh God,’ I say, smiling. Neither do I. But we can be soft together. Anyway, soft is more . . . ‘huggable.’

‘No. That’s not true. I have my own problems, but they’re not for you to fix. Just like I’m not here to fix you being deaf. That would be stupid. So don’t make this about that. If you think you need to take care of me, that’s on you, not me.’

‘It’s not up to you to make my world smaller or bigger,’ I say. ‘That’s up to me. But I want you to be in it. And I want to be in yours.’

‘You don’t have to depend on me,’ I say. ‘And I don’t have to depend on you. But we can still lean on each other when we need to. That’s still OK.’

As weird as this might sound, I don’t like getting credit for stuff that my rational mind understands is really simple. It just reminds me how pathetic I am.

There’s no such thing as getting your hopes up if you’re anxious. Little victories are everything in a world where worst-case scenarios are on an endless loop in your head.

Maybe we won’t be together forever. Maybe we won’t even make it to next year. And, if that happens, maybe it’ll be because of these problems or new problems we haven’t even imagined yet. But I love him, and he loves me.
And that, among other things, is enough.

He bites his lip. Sometimes I don’t feel strong enough for this world.
‘Oh God,’ I say, smiling. Neither do I. But we can be soft together. Anyway, soft is more . . . ‘huggable.’

‘You don’t have to depend on me,’ I say. ‘And I don’t have to depend on you. But we can still lean on each other when we need to. That’s still OK.’