A reflection on presence, tension, and not rushing to resolution.
--From Olga’s sacred "Relationship Healings" book collection.
There were some days when the energy between us felt… sticky.
Not explosive. Not dramatic. Just tense enough to notice. We were both off. A little snappy.
Moving around each other with just enough sharpness to keep the edges raised.
And I’ll be honest, my old instinct would have been to push. I would’ve asked, “What’s wrong?”
Tried to talk it through, bring everything into the open so we could smooth it out, fix the energy, resolve it. But something in me—maybe wisdom, maybe just a quieter kind of knowing—whispered:
“Let it be. Stay close anyway.”
So I didn’t chase clarity. I didn’t reach for the right words. Instead, I stayed near, gently. No pressure. No story.
That evening, we ended up sitting side by side on the couch. We didn’t say much. No processing, no breakthroughs.
Just the quiet rhythm of two people choosing to stay close, even in the fog of an unresolved day.
At some point, I rested my head on his shoulder. And in that small moment, something softened. Not everything. But enough.
What This Moment Taught Me
Love doesn’t always need a solution.
Sometimes, it just needs space: space to breathe, space to exist without pressure, and space to just be what it is for a bit.
For so long, I believed connection meant clarity. That if something felt off, we had to talk about it right away. That was the only way to feel close again was to solve whatever tension was sitting between us. But that night, I learned something different.
We didn’t fix the mood. We didn’t unravel the silence. We just stayed near each other. Quietly. Softly. And in that nearness, something shifted. It wasn’t about the right words or even any words at all. It was about choosing to remain close, even when the air felt heavy. About not needing a resolution to feel safe in each other’s presence.
That moment taught me that love doesn’t always ask for more effort. Sometimes it asks for less noise. Less urgency. And less reaching for something to mend.
We’re not broken every time we feel disconnected. Sometimes we’re just tired. Or quiet. Or sorting through our inner world. And that’s okay.
What matters is how we show up in that space.
Do we retreat?
Do we assume the worst?
Do we create stories around the silence?
Or do we stay near?
Do we let it be enough just to sit beside each other and remember that we’re not on opposite sides?
That night gave us no answers. But it gave us trust. And in the long run, I think that’s what relationships are built on. Not constant clarity, but the willingness to stay connected, even in the fog. Because love isn’t always about getting it right. It’s about being willing to stay in the room, without needing to be perfect, without needing to fix the energy, without needing to run.
That’s the kind of love I want to keep choosing. Not the one that always knows what to say, but the one that stays close anyway.
If you are reading this...
And someone comes to mind, someone you’ve felt a little off with lately, maybe this is your reminder that you don’t have to fix it all right away.
You don’t need the perfect words or a breakthrough moment.
Sometimes, just staying close is enough. A quiet gesture. A soft glance. The willingness to remain present, even when things feel tender.
That’s a form of healing, too. That’s love, lived.
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