Becoming Whispers | The Question

Dear Moon,

I'm sitting across from an old friend at dinner, and the question arrives without warning.

Why have we never tried this?

He's telling me about his week, and I'm listening, and suddenly I'm wondering: Is there something here I've been missing all these years? He's kind. He's interested in what I think. He's available in all the ways that usually feel impossible.

On paper, this makes sense. And how sweet would our story be, two people who were close friends for so long finally start dating and fall in love.

But as I sit with the question, I notice something else.

There's no pull. No aliveness. No sense of yes, this. The way my body usually speaks.

Just... a logical question. A reasonable wondering.

I take a sip of water and feel the cool glass in my hand, and I think about the difference between should and alive.

He's saying something funny, and I laugh, and it's genuine. But underneath the laughter, there's just... comfort. Like I'm watching a movie I've watched a hundred times and I know the ending.

And I realize: I'm trying to make something happen that my body has already said no to.

Quietly. Not dramatically. Just a steady, gentle no.

I used to override this. Used to tell myself that maybe the aliveness would come later, that chemistry could grow, that I just needed to give it more time. But we have had lot’s of time already.

And I know myself now. I know what it feels like when my body says yes. When there's a spark, a curiosity, a sense that something real is happening.

And this isn't that.

He reaches across the table to show me something on his phone, and I lean in, and I feel the absence of charge like a physical thing.

It's not his fault. He's amazing. But my body knows the difference between kind and alive.

And I'm learning to trust that knowing.

I smile at whatever he's showing me, and I think: I do enjoy his company.

I can appreciate him and still know that this isn't it. I can care about him and still honor what my body is telling me.

We finish dinner, and he walks me to my car, and he says, we should do this again soon, I say gently, "That would be nice, I had fun tonight."

I'm learning that real aliveness can't be forced. That my body's quiet no is as important as my mind's logical yes. 

And that honoring the difference is the most honest thing I can do.