Society has constructed this wall around men—tall, stiff, impenetrable. A wall that says be strong, react rather than feel, push emotions beneath rather than reveal them. And they do. They laugh when they hurt, nod when they wish to scream, and move forward when they're really stuck.
It's not that men don't feel; they were simply not instructed on how to express it. They were not allowed room to be vulnerable without being judged. When hurt arrives, they respond. When love arrives, they stall. When loss occurs, they go silent. Not because they don't care, but because they have no idea how to articulate it.
And I understand—it doesn't sit well when someone tells you, "Why can't you do this for me? Someone else does it without asking, but why not you?" That comparison hurts, not because I don't desire to, but because I don't know how. Perhaps I was never taught how to love the way you want me to. Perhaps I've been programmed differently, taught to reserve instead of give.
But that doesn't indicate I don't care. That doesn't mean I don't want to. It just means I'm learning. It just means I need someone who knows that silence does not equate to indifference. That hesitation does not equate to a lack of love.
And yet, I stand here today at a fork in the road. I don't want to lose someone due to someone else's fault. I don't want to give up just because the past reminds me of things that make me doubt. The past is not the future. Someone else's hurt cannot determine who we can be as one.
So, if he responds rather than speaks—perhaps, perhaps it is so—it's because nobody ever showed him how. Perhaps all he needs is someone to listen patiently, someone who can look behind the silence, someone who knows that just because he does not say so, doesn't mean he doesn't feel.
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