MODERN LOVE FILES II: THE THINGS I NEVER LEARNED TO SAY

CHRISTIAN'S PERSPECTIVE ABOUT MODERN LOVE                                                  

2 JUNE 2025

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WELCOME TEN.

WELCOME TO IN10MACY.

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This ain’t the fairytale kind of love.

It’s the kind that folds in silence.

That looks like loyalty but feels like weight.

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This is Christian’s side.

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Not the post.

Not the playlist.

The part you never hear —

’cause men like him were raised to hold it all in

and call it strength.

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But when love asks you to be soft,

and all you’ve ever known is survival,

what happens?

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This is part two of the story.

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The Things I Never Learned to Say.

Grief. Guilt. Manhood. Memory.

And how sometimes your silence

can break the very thing you’re trying to protect.

So if you came for surface love —

this ain’t that.

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But if you came for something raw,

real,

and all the way TEN?

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Yeah.

You’re in the right place.

Only on IN10MACY.

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📚 READ THESE WHILE YOU WAIT ON WHAT HE WON’T SAY OUT LOUD:

📖 Modern Love Files I: He Loved Me in His Way — But I Needed More

A soft heartbreak told from Felicia’s POV. When love shows up, but doesn’t know how to stay.

📖The 10 Worst Mistakes Men Make in Their 20s

From emotional numbness to performative loyalty — a real one’s guide to unlearning the hard way. 💥

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She Sleeps With Her Back to Me Now

She used to fall asleep on my chest.

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Now she sleeps with her back to me.

Like she’s holding on to a warmth I stopped giving.

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I still show up.

Still take her where she needs to go.

Still kiss her before I leave.

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Still ask “You good?” like it covers everything.

But lately…

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I feel like I’m loving her through habit.

And she’s loving me through memory.

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And the silence between us?

It’s louder than it used to be.

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She wants me to talk.

To say how I feel.

But how do you say something you’ve never been taught to name?

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THE FIRST THING I NEVER SAID

I was three when my mom died.

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They told me it was her heart.

But even then — little as I was — I could feel it wasn’t just that.

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I remember aunty yelling in the kitchen,

screaming at my pops like he pulled the plug himself.

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“She would’ve still been here if it wasn’t for your mess.”

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That line never left me.

I didn’t know what she meant.

Still don’t fully.

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But I remember standing there, holding a toy I never touched again.

I didn’t cry.

And nobody asked me to.

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Nobody said, “How you feeling, little man?”

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It was like I was supposed to just… adjust.

And I did.

Not because I understood.

But because I had no other choice.

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I forgave it too early.

Not because it made sense —

but because nobody gave me space to do anything else.

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My dad?

He didn’t disappear.

He stepped up.

Best way he knew how.

Showed up to every game.

Paid the rent.

Made sure I ate, wore clean clothes, got haircuts before picture day.

He was there.

Just not here.

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Not in the feelings.

Not in the softness.

That man taught me everything he had in his toolbox:

Discipline. Loyalty. Don’t talk too much. Don’t love too loud.

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He never said “I love you.”

But I knew he did.

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He loved with presence, not poetry.

So I learned how to love the same way.

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Quietly.

Functionally.

Without needing to explain it.

And maybe that’s why I don’t say much now.

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Not because I’m hiding.

But because I never learned how to carry what hurts in words.

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I carry it in silence.

Like my father did.

Like I thought men were supposed to.

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SHE LOVED ME LIKE A POEM. I LOVED HER LIKE A HABIT.

Felicia’s the kind of woman who knows how to love out loud.

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She got this softness that don’t flinch.

The kind that pulls up close even when you ain’t say a word.

She hears silence like it’s a sentence she needs to finish.

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And me?

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I speak in short answers.

“You good?”

“I’m cool.”

That’s what I know.

That’s what raised me.

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I wasn’t built in a house where feelings got unpacked.

I was raised where you hold it in, hold it down, and hope it don’t leak.

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She wanted love notes.

I gave her loyalty.

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She wanted check-ins.

I gave her keys to the crib.

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She wanted to be chosen out loud.

And I thought choosing her in my head was enough.

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Turns out…

you can love somebody with your whole chest and still leave them starving for proof.

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She used to ask me stuff like:

“Do you think about us?”

And I’d get quiet.

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Not because I ain’t care —

but because my mind got crowded and my mouth couldn’t keep up.

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Every time I tried to say something real,

I felt like I was about to choke on it.

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I’d feel her waiting…

and it made me want to leave the room just to breathe.

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Like she was asking for a language I never learned.

And I was tired of showing up wrong in her eyes.

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Tired of feeling like love came with pop quizzes I didn’t study for.

What I’m starting to realize is:

She didn’t want perfect. She wanted present.

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Not my routine.

Not my rhythm.

Just… me. Raw. Open. Human.

But when you’ve only ever been taught to protect —

you forget how to let someone in.

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THE NIGHT I DIDN’T SAY ENOUGH

That night felt regular.

Wings. The game. Her laughing in the car when I freestyled something dumb.

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But under it?

I could feel her slipping.

Not loud.

Not messy.

Just… distant in a way that felt planned.

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And I ain’t know what to do with that.

So I acted like I didn’t feel it.

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We got back to my spot.

I dropped my keys like always.

Rolled up.

Sat on the couch like routine was still strong enough to hold us.

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She sat between my legs — quiet.

And I knew that quiet.

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That was her “I need something from you but I’m tired of asking” silence.

So I did what I always do when I don’t know what to say:

I touched her.

Ran my fingers down her back like that would answer the question I hadn’t let her ask yet.

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Then she tilted her head up.

Looked at me like I was something she used to trust.

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“Do you ever think about us?”

And just like that —

I was on the edge of a cliff I ain’t know how to stand on.

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I blinked.

Smirked.

Not because it was funny,

but because when you feel cornered emotionally, you either fight or fold into the performance.

I folded.

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“What you mean?” I said.

That’s my go-to deflection.

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Make her explain her feelings twice so I can buy time to figure out mine.

“Like… what are we really doing?”

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That’s when I exhaled.

Not out of frustration —

out of fear.

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Because she was asking something I didn’t have a blueprint for.

“I show you how I feel every day, Fee.”

And I meant that.

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But even as I said it,

I could feel her shutting down.

Because I wasn’t answering with connection.

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I was answering with routine.

I wasn’t present.

I was performing the version of love I thought should be enough.

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“You make sure I’m fed, you give rides, you hold me down. But half the time I feel like I’m dating your habits, not your heart.”

That line hit like a gut punch.

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Because it was true.

I didn’t have the words.

I had rituals.

I had doing.

But I was running on emotional autopilot, and I didn’t know how to land.

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I wanted to fix it.

I wanted to tell her I love her.

I wanted to make her feel safe in my arms without her having to explain why she felt alone in them.

But instead I gave her my fallback:

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“I ain’t used to all that emotional shit, Fee. My dad never talked like that either.”

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Truth?

Yeah.

But truth don’t heal if it’s used as a shield.

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“If I have to teach you how to love me from scratch,” she said, “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your growth curve.”

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I didn’t say a word.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I didn’t know if she was right — or if I was just too late to catch up.

And when you feel like a man failing at love,

sometimes all you can do is freeze.

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I DIDN’T SAY IT THEN. SO I’LL SAY IT HERE.

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She didn’t leave.

Not really.

But she did stop trying.

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And that’s worse sometimes.

’Cause when somebody you love stops reaching for you —

you don’t hear it.

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You feel it.

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Like the air gets thin around them.

That’s what I wake up next to now.

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A woman I still love...

but can barely reach.

And the sick part?

I don’t blame her.

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I used to think love was loyalty.

Was showing up.

Picking her up. Holding her down. Paying attention to what she needed —

just not always why she needed it.

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But love isn’t presence without participation.

And it damn sure ain’t silence dressed up as peace.

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I loved her in my way.

But she needed more.

And I didn’t know how.

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Nobody ever taught me how to love someone who needed words.

Needed softness.

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My whole life, I was told love was what you did,

not what you said.

But what you don’t say?

That’s what echoes.

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That’s what she’s been hearing for months.

I never told her about my mom.

How I forgave something I didn’t understand.

How I learned to move through pain without naming it.

Because what do you say about grief you were too young to grieve?

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I never told her how I used to practice saying “I love you” in my head.

Not because I didn’t feel it.

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But because it felt like trying to speak a language I wasn’t fluent in —

and I didn’t want to mess it up in her face.

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So I stayed quiet.

And that silence turned into space.

And that space?

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Turned into her facing the window every night

like she was protecting her peace

from the person sleeping next to her.

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I still don’t know if I’m ready.

But I know now:

Love without language is a body without breath.

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And I don’t want to love like that anymore.

She might not hear this.

Might not read this.

But if I never say it, it’ll stay stuck in me like everything else.

So here it is:

I loved you, Felicia.

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Not the way you needed.

But with everything I had at the time.

And I see now…

it wasn’t enough.

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But maybe one day,

if I ever love again —

I’ll have better tools.

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Not just to hold her down.

But to hold her whole.

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IN10MACY OUTRO: THE CLOSE OF CHRISTIAN’S POV

You’ve just heard the side that never gets spoken.

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Not because it wasn’t felt —

but because some of us were taught to hold pain like breath.

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Here at IN10MACY,

we don’t just tell love stories —

we unpack silence.

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We write what people feel but don’t always have the words for.

We tell the truth quietly,

and let it echo.

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So if this moved something in you —

don’t just close the tab.

Subscribe.

Join the Discord.

Step into the conversation.

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Because this isn’t just a blog.

It’s a space.

A soft revolution.

A mirror with rhythm.

And trust —

we’re just getting started.

Stories like this don’t just entertain.

They elevate. Luxuriously. Intimately. Deeply.

So stay close.

#StayTen.

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💌 Subscribe to IN10MACY to never miss the next story that’ll make you sit with your own reflection.

🗣️ Join the Discord — because community hits different when it’s rooted in emotional honesty.

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This is The Hood Author, Mr.10

Signing off the only way I know how:

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#IN10MACY

#LuxuriousIntimacy

#10OUT

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