~A Letter From Mom ~

I thought of you, that quiet day,
in January’s cold, aching way.
I searched for a cardinal to help you see –
a mother’s hug, sent quietly.

But no scarlet feathers came when I
prayed,
they’d flown instead to ease another’s pain.
So where red wings should have stirred
the air,
I sent a man – gentle, strong, and rare.

I breathed my love soft into his ear,
a whisper only your heart would hear.
Step by step, though he never knew,
his every footfall led him to you.

You’ve carried so much on your own,
yet love was never yours alone.
So let love in, don’t turn away –
you were never meant to lose your way.

Daughter dear, breathe deep and hold no
fear.
You are loved beyond compare.
Let your heart breathe soft and free –
and know my love will always be

I am but one man,
moving through the world
like something forgotten.
Not feared, not chased—
just left behind.

They called me a lone wolf
like it meant strength,
like solitude was a choice.
But I was never brave.
Just lonely.
Just left to figure it out
on my own.

My father raised his voice
and his hands—
storm after storm,
tearing through the halls
like I was the thing that broke him.

I used to hide in closets,
curled into corners,
holding my breath
like silence might save me.
The dark became a shield.
My own heartbeat,
my only sound.

He never hit me with his fists alone.
His words struck deeper—
called me too soft,
too needy,
too much of everything
no one wants.

And I believed him.
Even now,
his voice lives in my thoughts,
louder than any kindness
I’ve tried to collect since.

I went searching,
you know—
in the arms of anyone
who looked at me like I was something.
I gave pieces of myself away
just to feel wanted,
even for a night.

But they always left.
Or I did.
Because when they got too close,
I remembered—
that boy in the closet,
waiting for someone to open the door
and find him worth saving.

I never learned to stay.
Never learned to trust
that love could be soft,
that hands could hold
without hurting.

Only the animals stay.
They curl into me
without needing answers.
They don’t pull away
when I go quiet.
They just stay.
And that’s more than most.

Now I hide in new ways—
behind silence,
behind tired smiles,
behind a life that looks
just okay enough
to not ask questions.

But I’m still hiding.
Still aching.
Still wondering
if there’s anyone who won’t flinch
at the weight I carry.

Tonight, the quiet is heavy.
And I am tired
of being alone
in a world that keeps moving
without ever noticing
I needed to be held.

Call it weakness.
Call it memory.
Call it what’s left
of a heart that’s still breaking
for something
it never got to have.

The heat pressed down on my skin like your hands once did—
slow, steady, unforgettable.

My mouth was dry, my body aching—
but it wasn’t water I needed.
It was you.

The Strip pulsed around us—
neon lights flashing, voices rising,
solicitors reaching from every side.

But the moment your fingers found mine,
the chaos faded.
You made me feel safe in a place built to make people forget.

The feathered girls brushed past like temptation,
the phony cops played their parts with easy charm.
They moved through the crowd like they owned it—
but none of them saw me.

Not like you did.
Not with that quiet intensity,
not with the calm in your touch
that steadied everything inside me.

You held me close like the night belonged to us.
Your eyes found mine
like you already knew how the rest of it would go—
how the Strip would disappear,
how the only lights that mattered
would be the ones reflecting off your skin.

Even before you touched me,
my body was already aching for you.

But it wasn’t just want.
It was the way you looked at me
like I was seen.
Known.
Wanted in every way.

A man slept in the gutter like the city had swallowed him whole.
A woman begged, her eyes rehearsed.
A barefoot soul wandered through the noise,
forgotten.

Everything around us was dressed in false light—
but you,
you were the truth beneath it all.

And when we were finally alone,
you didn’t just undress me—
you unraveled me.

Soft at first,
then with the kind of hunger
that left me breathless.

You touched me like I was something sacred,
like you knew every part of me
deserved to be remembered.

I think about that night more than I should.
How you whispered things
that still echo in places I keep hidden.

How your mouth moved like prayer across my skin.
How you made me forget
every version of myself that came before.

People talk about Vegas
like it’s unforgettable—
but nothing there ever touched me
like you did.

And sometimes,
when the world feels too loud again,
I close my eyes
and return to that night—

not to the Strip,
but to you.