Haven

 

It’s like winter sometimes. 

That kind of deep, bone-quiet cold that settles into everything — the air, the sky, the spaces between words. The kind of cold that makes the world feel still and endless all at once.

I think of him most during these times. When the trees are bare, when the light fades early, when the silence is louder than usual. There’s something about these moments that brings all the memories back, sharp and aching, like the wind against your skin.

There was a time I thought I’d never stop feeling frozen inside — especially after I lost him. The one I loved the most. The one I built futures around in my head, only to be left holding pieces I didn’t know how to fit back together.

And yet... someone stayed. Not the person I expected. Not the person I thought I needed. But someone who showed up anyway. Consistently. Quietly. Without asking for anything.

He listened.

To all the emotional ramblings. The sobs I couldn’t hold in. The moments I hated myself for not being stronger. He didn’t try to fix it — he just let me be. Broken, bitter, bare. And somehow, still safe.

It takes a different kind of strength to sit with someone in their winter. Not to rush them toward spring, not to distract them with sunshine — but to be okay with the cold. To just... hold space.

There’s a line from a BTS song that always finds me when I’m like this —
“You’re my best friend for the rest of my life.”

But maybe he isn't yet. Maybe I've read it all wrong. Maybe I'll never muster up the courage to ask him to. I can just hope. 

But that’s what this love feels like to me. The love in friendship that doesn’t need to shine to be real. That stays through the frost, through the silence, through the long nights when grief still lingers like a ghost. 

It's like haven.

Another line drifts into my mind, softer —
“In a world where you feel cold, you gotta stay gold.”
And maybe that’s what he is. Gold, in winter. A quiet, steady light.

Maybe I don’t have to say it. Maybe he knows. But some nights — like tonight — I wish he could feel what I feel. The quiet gratitude. The ache of how much that kind of presence can mean. Especially when everything else feels far away.

It’s like winter. And the world is cold.

But not as cold as it used to be.

Because someone stayed.

And I don’t know if I’ve ever said it — not the way it lives in my chest. Maybe I’ve been too careful. Or maybe I didn’t think I had the right words.

But if he ever reads this, if he ever wonders...

I care too.
A lot more than I let on.