when the morning broke me before the world did

today has been hard, but…

today, the goal was simple—just go on a walk.
nothing elaborate. nothing grand. just movement, fresh air, a moment to breathe after a morning that already left me unraveling.

because the truth is—
it started with him.
my boyfriend was a jerk this morning.
no explosions, no dramatic argument—just that quiet cruelty that slices without sound. words laced with disappointment,  sharp enough to bruise, the kind that makes your stomach twist and your chest ache before the day even begins.

so by the time my wife and i got in the car, i was already breaking.
she knew. she always knows. but we’d had our own tiff too. emotions tangled, timing all wrong. her silence wasn’t cold—it was protective. she was giving me space, maybe trying not to make it worse. but silence after a fight and heartbreak isn’t peace. it’s a weight. a scream with no sound.

music played low. the drive stretched long. i stared out the window, counting fence posts, pretending not to crumble. fifteen minutes in, i felt it—the squeeze. that awful, suffocating tightness that starts behind your ribs and climbs into your throat. my chest clenched. my hands shook. i tried to swallow it back, to stay quiet. but my body said no.

it hit fast.
the tears, the gasping, the shaking so hard i couldn’t form words.
a full-blown panic attack at sixty miles an hour down a Missouri highway.

my wife slowed immediately, calm and steady, even while i was falling apart. she turned down a gravel road and stopped. the sound of tires crunching under us, cars passing in the distance, the world moving too fast while i tried to breathe again. she reached for me—hands firm but gentle, rubbing my back, whispering breathe, baby, it’s okay, i’ve got you.

and i let her hold me. i sobbed until my chest burned, until the worst of it passed.
until the storm finally loosened its grip.

we sat there a while. me shaking, her quiet. and when the air finally stopped spinning, i told her we could keep going.

we did. we made it to the trail, took a few pictures at the entrance. smiled—falsely, maybe, but trying. i snapped a few photos of trees, shadows, small wild things along the path. we got lost at one point, which felt poetic in a way—two women already lost in their own hearts, wandering off a trail meant to ground us. but that detour led us somewhere beautiful. a view that made everything still for a moment.

we stood there, breathing.
not talking about this morning, or the argument, or the panic.
just existing, side by side, with the wind on our faces and the ache between us softening.

eventually, my body began to fade again. my limbs heavy, my head thick with medication and exhaustion. i told her i was tired, that i wanted to go home, that my meds had numbed everything and i couldn’t push anymore. she didn’t question it. she just nodded, smiled softly, and said, then let’s go home.

we didn’t finish the trail, but i don’t think we needed to.
sometimes finishing isn’t healing. sometimes, stopping is.

the ride home was quiet again, but this time, gentle.
we talked a little. she reached over and held my hand. the music hummed low. we mentioned how good a nap sounded, and when we got home, she rubbed my head until i fell asleep. three hours gone—dreamless, deep, the kind of sleep that feels like starting over.

while i slept, she moved quietly through the house—taking care of things, taking care of me, because that’s who she is.

when i woke around seven, the light was soft and fading. i still felt bruised inside, hollow in that emotional way you can’t name. then my girlfriend came home, smiling gently, holding an ice cream cone out like a small peace offering from the universe. i laughed, weakly, and we sat together watching matlock, just breathing the same air.

today was hard.
it started with someone who should have been kind and wasn’t.
it broke me open on a highway.
but it also reminded me that love can look like gravel roads and steady hands. like silence that doesn’t hurt. like ice cream cones at the end of an ugly day.

today, i didn’t finish the trail.
but i survived the storm.
and right now, that feels like enough.

with ink + bloom, 🌻