Isaiah Martin

‚Iris‘ (inspired by Goo Goo Dolls) Seven weeks wasn’t a long time. It wasn’t long enough to call it love, not long enough to feel entitled to anything. But it was long enough to notice patterns, to memorize the way silence could stretch between them without feeling empty, to learn how easily something careful could turn into something fragile. They had met often, texted too much, learned each other in fragments. It had felt unspoken but mutual, the kind of connection that doesn’t announce itself, only settles quietly under the skin. That night was supposed to be easy. A familiar place, familiar laughter, an agreement not to complicate things. But something shifted. A comment meant as self-defense landed like distance. A question meant as reassurance sounded like doubt. Each tried to slow the moment down, to appear unaffected, reasonable, less intense than they felt. And with every careful sentence, another misunderstanding stacked itself between them. Voices rose—not in anger, but in frustration sharpened by fear. Fear of wanting more. Fear of wanting it faster than the other. Fear of being the one who cared too much. By the time they stood up from the table, both were convinced they had crossed an invisible line. That whatever this was, it had been damaged by honesty that came out sideways. Outside, the air was heavy, rain already starting to fall. They separated without clarity, without resolution, each carrying the same thought home like a bruise: I should have said what I meant. I should have let you see who I am. Instead, all that remained was the pressure behind the eyes, the kind that promises tears but never delivers them, and the certainty that if nothing changed now, something real would be lost for good. (35, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)