Sometimes I find myself being too nice.
Not out of joy — but out of fear.
Not because I feel connected — but because I feel I have to prove that I’m not a threat.

There’s one person I keep thinking about.
Every interaction feels slightly off.
I overthink my words, monitor my tone, manage my humour like I’m walking a tightrope.
Because he seems so fragile.
So easily bruised by what I might say.

And I hate that dynamic — not because I dislike him, but because I feel the sadness of what’s missing.

We’re both emotional men.
But maybe I’m a little more assertive.
And maybe that triggers something in him.
Not because I’m arrogant, but because he hasn’t yet found that strength in himself.

Instead of meeting in that shared sensitivity, it feels like there’s this low-level tension —
Like I have to work harder to make him comfortable, while shrinking slightly to do it.

And it’s tiring.

There’s a grief in it, honestly.
Because part of me believes we could’ve helped each other — if only we weren’t stuck in this silent comparison.
If only we both felt safe enough to just be.

But I can’t keep softening to avoid being misunderstood.
Not when it costs me clarity.
Not when it clouds connection.

Sometimes, even with good people, it just doesn’t land right.
And that doesn’t make either of us bad.
It just means I need space.
And that’s okay.