Dear Joel,
You never asked for this letter.
But I needed to write it.
Thank you —
for reading me when I go quiet,
for understanding the pauses between my words,
for not questioning the darkness when it comes.
You don’t ask me to explain.
You don’t try to fix me.
You don’t treat my heavy days like a problem to solve —
you just sit beside me, and stay.
There are moments when I feel like I am made of static,
all noise and tension and unraveling edges.
And still, you don’t flinch.
You don’t pull away.
You stay steady while I fall apart, and you never make me feel like I’m too much.
That is love — not loud, not performative,
but patient, present, and painfully real.
You make the house feel less haunted.
You remind me that I’m still here — even in the dark,
even when I forget how to see myself clearly.
You hold space for all the versions of me:
the joyful, the numb, the anxious, the grieving, the exhausted, the raw.
And even when I disappear a little,
even when I fall quiet,
even when the shadows win for a while —
you always leave a light on for me.
That song is ours for a reason.
Because you don’t just stay.
You believe I’ll find my way back.
And you make sure I never return to silence.
You leave a light on —
and that’s everything.
Yours forever and always
Sammie j