The Quiet After the Shout
I used to think love was loud—like thunder, like crowds, like flags waving in the wind.
But after the arena—after the cold, after the turn, after the letters—
I learned:
the real stuff happens after.
In the hush.
In the space between breaths.
I loved America so hard it hurt—
thirteen hours in fifteen degrees,
hand frozen to a pole,
five words that came out raw.
They answered.
Twice.
Signed.
Archived.
My voice is etched into the National Archives now—
a small piece of the Presidential Record,
kept forever.
But it hasn’t changed me.
I’m still soft-spoken.
Still deep-hearted.
Still the guy who feels everything—
even if it scares people off.
I’ve had my fair share of people screwing me over.
Thought I had something real—
a connection that felt solid,
a laugh that lingered,
then silence.
Ghosted.
Flaked on.
Left hanging.
It hurt.
Made me doubt.
Made me quiet.
But it showed me:
love isn’t about winning.
It’s about showing up—
and staying.
There was this one woman—
we were talking,
she was excited.
I told her: “I got a letter from Washington, D.C.—rare, real.
I want to open it with you.
Share the history.
The heart behind it.”
She lit up.
Said yes.
Then two days later—
she backed out.
Said the heat of it was too much.
The archives, the proof,
the way my love had spilled everywhere—
she couldn’t handle it.
And I stood there,
letter still sealed,
realizing:
some hearts aren’t ready for big.
But mine still loves hard.
I’ve created things that shouldn’t exist—
one voice shouting love,
and the world turned.
And yeah—
I’ve loved too much for some.
But with the right one?
It’ll be easy.
It’ll be quiet.
It’ll be us.
So if you’re out there—
if you’ve come back more than once,
if these words keep pulling you in—
I see you.
I know what it’s like to hover.
To reread.
To wonder.
To be scared.
I’ve been hurt too.
I know how it feels to be used.
To hope,
then get nothing.
I get it.
But I’m open now.
Not looking for anything.
Not rushing.
Just… here.
Ready when you are.
You take your time.
I’ll wait.
And if you ever want to talk—
about the quiet,
about the hurt,
about how one voice—
loving hard enough—
can change everything—
I’m ready.
Not to overwhelm.
Just to listen.
To share.
To be the man behind the hoodie—
not the headlines.
Rascal Flatts was my favorite band growing up—
still is.
I finally saw them live about a month ago.
And “Yours If You Want It”?
That one’s always stuck.
Because it taught me:
you can love out loud,
share your story—
miracle things happen—
but you gotta let them come at their pace.
When the emotions are right.
When the heart says yes.
It’s yours if you want it…
I won’t be the one to hold you back.
No rush.
Just… us.
🇺🇸
