​“On the Loyalty of Furniture, and Other Things That Don't Betray You”

Sunflowers blooming on Ringold Street in Peekskill, NY.

Some people live in sitcom reruns. Laugh tracks. Group texts. Always surrounded. They’re never alone long enough to wonder if they should be.

I don’t live there.

I can count my loyal friends on one hand—and that’s me being generous to a pinky who’s been iffy lately. It’s not bitterness. It’s just…I’ve seen how fast affection can turn into ammunition. You know the ones. Smile like a summer Friday. Sting like rent due Monday.

There was a time I let someone crash in my home and vice versa. A temporary storm shelter, I thought. But instead of the storm passing, it moved in. With luggage. And emotional mildew. My peaceful place became a bootcamp for whispering and tiptoeing. When does kindness start costing more than cruelty?

That’s not me saying “no one can be trusted.” It’s me saying: some coins spin longer than you think before you find out which face they show.

Maybe what I’m trying to say is this—trust is not a party trick. It’s earned in silence. In who shows up when it’s inconvenient. In who doesn’t make you pay in doubt. And when your own heart doesn’t know what it’s looking for, maybe that’s the sign to stop searching and start listening.

Not to them.

To something higher.