I recently met a woman who captivates my curiosity in ways which are both subtle and sincere. She possesses an enchanting smile, one that invites contemplation, and her intellect is a reservoir of knowledge.

Our time together began in simplicity, which brought with it the slow transition from casual exchanges to more intimate encounters and a beautiful friendship rooted in vulnerability and openness. It was just the two of us, seated beside one another at her wooden dining table; an otherwise unremarkable place transformed into the locus of a quiet, passionate moment. There, amidst the remnants of earlier conversations and the subtle hush of the night, we began to truly reveal ourselves, not merely through the words exchanged but through the silences that punctuated them. Our questions, though innocuous at first, grew longer in their responses, drawing us closer, as though the very chairs we occupied were conspiring to bring our bodies nearer. And in time, they did. The space between us vanished, until we found ourselves no longer seated apart but sharing an almost singular presence.

In that instant, as if time itself paused in reverence, our lips met. The kiss was neither hurried nor fleeting, but rather the kind that stretches across the span of hours. Our hands explored, tracing paths not unlike the threads of our earlier conversations; each touch unveiling a new dimension of understanding, as if we were learning each other in a language foreign yet familiar. It was as if our bodies communicated where words could not, translating the intrigue of thought into something palpable and electric.

–

As we sit under the autumn sun,
Our knees brush the earth,
Your eyes trace soft paths between us.

Our children play in the distance;
Their laughter singing a song we both know well.

Between bites of a shared sandwich,
We exchange stories,
Untangling the past and present,
Until we begin to speak of dreams
We had both long forgotten.

In the stillness between breaths,
My hand finds your leg,
And before our children return;
You steal a kiss, quick as a secret.
I smile, and steal it back.

When our children return to the picnic,
Their hands full of discoveries,
We sit, caught in the moment’s pause;
No longer stealing kisses,
But sharing them softly,
As if they belong only to us.

— Sincerely, Boris

Listening, truly hearing, and validating others are more than just transactional actions; they are pathways to deeper connection and understanding. As I navigate relationships in my life, be it as a brother, father, friend, or romantic partner, I recognize the invisible barriers that often obstruct meaningful communication. These barriers are rooted in assumptions, judgments, or emotional distractions that distance us from one another.

With my parents, the distance is palpable. It’s not simply a physical separation but an emotional one, built over years of unmet expectations and miscommunications. Listening, I’ve learned, involves more than just being present; it’s about silencing my inner critic and fears long enough to truly hear them, to understand their perspectives without immediately reacting or defending. This is where the challenge lies: how do I open myself to a history that’s been difficult, without letting it consume me?

My siblings have always been my emotional anchors. Here, I’ve discovered the importance of validation; not just through words but through actions and shared experiences. In these relationships, we’ve built a foundation of trust, and I’ve realized that validating their experiences means offering empathy without judgment, even when I don’t fully understand. In return, I’ve felt their unwavering support through the darkest moments of my life.

With my daughter, as a single father, listening has taken on new meaning. She looks to me not just for answers, but for guidance through her emotions, her thoughts, and her evolving sense of the world. Hearing her is about allowing her the space to express herself without imposing my own fears or expectations. It’s about creating an environment where she feels safe and valued, knowing that her thoughts matter, that her voice is important. I’ve found that validating her as she grows is my way of not only being her father but also being her ally in life.

Friends and romantic partners have presented their own challenges. In my past relationships, I’ve often found myself either shutting down or misinterpreting, letting misunderstandings brew into distance. What I’ve learned is that to truly connect with those I care for, I need to offer them more than just words; I need to offer presence, patience, and the willingness to acknowledge their emotional realities without diminishing them. It’s an ongoing process of learning to hold space for others while also being vulnerable enough to let them hold space for me.

Through all these roles, I’ve come to understand that listening, hearing, and validating are not just tools for better relationships; they are acts of love and generosity. When I strip away my ego and the defenses I’ve built over years of pain and trauma, I see that these practices are what allow me to bridge the gaps that have formed in my life, from my childhood through to the present. They are, ultimately, how I can transform the relationships that matter most to me, starting with myself.

—

There’s a secret to listening, a delicate art,
Where ears become wings and minds become hearts.
It’s not just the words that float through the air,
But the spaces between, the moments we share.

It’s catching the whispers that never take flight,
The thoughts in the corners, the ones out of sight.
Like fireflies dancing in soft twilight skies,
It’s hearing the things that aren’t said with your eyes.

A laugh that feels tired, a smile that’s unsure,
A pause that says “listen,” though nothing is pure.
It’s the music of presence, a soft-spoken tune,
That fills up the room like a warm afternoon.

To listen, my friend, is an act of sweet grace,
A gift without ribbons, no bow to replace.
For love isn’t grand when you shout from above;
It’s the quiet “I hear you” that whispers of love.

— Sincerely, Boris

Act One:

It takes a year to learn loss,
to feel the weight of each day without its rhythm,
what once was, is now only a shadow,
what was here, has slipped away.

It takes a year to understand the space
you still hold in my heart, in my mind.
What was once hollow, now aches with memory.
What was once vacant, is now filled with longing.

It takes a year to fall in love,
and a moment to take it for granted.
What was once ours, has drifted beyond reach.
What was once ours, belongs to the past.

It takes a year to regret the deepest mistake,
to lose everything; even yourself.
What was once within grasp, is now gone,
what once was life, is now distant.

It takes a year to mourn the loss,
to feel again what was missed and forgotten.
What once broke me, has now faded,
what once shattered, is now still.

It takes a year to feel the sting of absence,
to realize the love you held is no longer yours,
and in the stillness of that truth, we find peace,
carving space for new beginnings, for what’s to come.

Act Two:

One year ago today,
I spoke those words,
I never thought I’d say again;
‘I love you,’ and in that moment,
My world had forever changed.

— Sincerely, Boris

I miss the simplicity of slow dancing, swaying with someone under dim lights or even no lights at all, just the music of the moment guiding us. I long for the quiet exchange of handwritten notes, folded corners, and scrawled words that felt more intimate than texting ever could. There’s something irreplaceable about holding hands, feeling the pulse of another life interwoven with your own, a silent affirmation of connection.

I miss the affection; the casual, unspoken touches that say everything. The surprise of it all: an unexpected romantic gesture that brightened the day for no other reason than love. There’s an almost sacred joy in taking care of someone when they’re ill and not feeling themselves, the chance to nurture and be there in their vulnerability.

Cooking meals together, spending holidays together, planning a trip that revolves only around us, reading chapters to one another, carrying your things, buying flowers just because; these small rituals hold so much love in their simple execution. I miss sharing a stunning view with someone who feels the same way about the world, the silent communion that comes from recognizing beauty together.

Every love language matters in romance: the touch of a hand, the words that lift each other up, the thoughtful gifts, the unexpected surprises, the moments of service where we care without being asked, and the time spent simply being. They are all pieces of the puzzle that make romance whole, that make it feel alive and present in every interaction.

—

I miss the fold of your notes,
handwritten, curved,
as if the words themselves
were meant only for us to read.

I miss the simple joy of your hand in mine,
our fingers woven tightly,
a quiet language spoken
through skin and pulse.

I miss the sudden warmth of affection,
unprompted touches that bloom
unexpected, like the harvest in your garden.

The element of surprise,
the way love shows up
in places we never thought to look.

I miss the kitchen conversations,
meals made with laughter
and slow dancing over a simmering ***.

And buying flowers, just because
a day felt brighter with them in your hands.
I miss the view from that hilltop,
how we laid there, silently drinking in the world’s beauty
and found it mirrored in each other’s eyes.

I miss the romance,
the essence of what made us whole,
the moments we froze in time,
just long enough to call them ours.

— Sincerely, Boris

Trust is a fragile thing, and I learned this through the bruises of past relationships. Boundaries were a concept I didn’t recognize, let alone embrace. Throughout my childhood and young adult life, I hadn’t seen trust protected by boundaries; instead, it felt conditional, something that could vanish the moment I made a mistake.

Growing up in a home where my voice was often drowned out, where the lines between safety and fear blurred, I never learned that I had the right to set limits or protect my own space. As a child, I lived in an environment where mistakes felt unforgivable, with my needs and wants taking a back seat to keeping peace or avoiding conflict. That pattern followed me, undetected, into adulthood.

In my past marriage, trust was twisted into something transactional; I gave and gave, bending to make things work, hoping that in sacrificing my needs, I’d somehow earn security. But trust erodes quickly when there’s no boundary to protect it, and by the time we reached the end, it was shattered, scattered in pieces I could barely recognize. Throughout the entire 14-year relationship with my ex-wife, I unknowingly carried the absence of boundaries with me. I tried to be everything I thought a husband and father should be, pouring every ounce of myself into a relationship that quietly depleted me, while she dictated our lives to the smallest detail, and often used them against me. My needs vanished under layers of compromise and concession. Over time, I realized I wasn’t in love with her, but instead tethered by an obligation to uphold the image of a “good husband.”

Boundaries felt selfish; they seemed like walls I wasn’t allowed to build, even as my own well being deteriorated. I had buried my true self beneath the weight of expectations and silent suffering. It took years to realize how damaging that was and how necessary it is to set limits that honor one’s own dignity. After my divorce, I thought love alone would be enough to hold onto trust, but I soon saw how easily trust can be chipped away without boundaries to frame it. It taught me that when boundaries aren’t respected, trust withers, leaving behind only doubt and regret.

I realize now, boundaries are the silent guardians of trust. They keep it intact, protected from the misunderstandings that come when needs go unspoken. When I set boundaries, I’m not only safeguarding my well-being but also inviting others to respect my trust by respecting my limits. Learning to set boundaries has been, in many ways, a journey in rebuilding trust and that boundaries are an act of self-respect. They aren’t barriers to keep people out, but lines that protect the best of who we are. I came to see that in order to show up as a healthy, present father, as a friend, as a partner, and as the person I strive to be, I need to safeguard my energy and my emotional space. Learning to set limits; to tell others where I end and they begin; has been a transformative act of reclaiming myself. I understand now that boundaries are not selfish; they are a declaration of self-worth. I had to understand that without boundaries, trust has no foundation; it’s a vulnerable thing that requires support to stand on my own and they’re about creating a safe space where trust can grow slowly, steadily, and with integrity.

I have come to learn that when I honor my boundaries, I’m rebuilding the foundation of trust in myself. This trust is precious; it’s the belief that I won’t betray my own needs for someone else’s comfort. They’re a promise to myself that I will no longer give away pieces of my peace. And when others respect my boundaries, they earn something rare and valuable; a trust that, this time, feels solid enough to last.

Through my experience, I’ve come to carry three powerful truths about boundaries. First, they are non-negotiable. For too long, I made my needs flexible, prioritizing others over myself. Now, boundaries allow me to define who I am, uncompromisingly. Second, they empower us to say no without guilt or apology. Each ‘no’ is a way of saying ‘yes’ to the life and relationships I deserve. And finally, boundaries are how we honor ourselves and teach others to do the same. They are my compass, helping me navigate life with dignity, pride, and authenticity.

This journey hasn’t been easy. Breaking the patterns of a lifetime can feel like tearing down and rebuilding a house from its foundations. But I’ve learned that setting boundaries isn’t about anger or resentment; it’s about clarity, growth, and love; for myself, for my daughter, and for the relationships I wish to nurture moving forward.

—

Once there was a quiet garden,
filled with colors bright and wild.
It grew best when lines were honored;
a space for each root, each petal, each stem.

For a time, no borders stood,
and flowers tangled, starved for sun,
their colors dulled, their strength pulled thin,
as vines of one drained life from within.

So a gardener placed small stones around,
not walls, but paths for each to grow;
a space to bloom, freely and alone,
to lift their heads, to stretch and know.

In tending gently to each line,
the garden thrived, each flower freed,
and side by side, they grew in kind,
a beauty held by roots, not need.

Boundaries gave them life that way,
together, yet strong, every day.

— Sincerely, Boris

In my journey toward embracing compassion as a way of being, I’ve come to understand that the path to selflessness is not about denying myself, but rather expanding my sense of self to include the wellbeing of others. Every moment presents an opportunity to awaken the heart, to lean into discomfort rather than avoid it, and to cultivate a deep empathy that transcends personal interests.

I’ve learned that the practice of compassion involves recognizing the suffering in the world without becoming overwhelmed by it. It’s about training the mind to meet challenges with patience and openness, seeing others’ pain as a reflection of our shared human condition. When I make a commitment to serve others, I am not striving for perfection but rather accepting my own imperfections as part of the learning process.

Through mindful awareness, I realize that my own difficulties and struggles are a gateway to greater understanding and connection. By confronting fear and vulnerability, I begin to soften my heart, not just toward others but toward myself. Compassionate action is not grand gestures but small, consistent choices to live with kindness, equanimity, and courage. It is a practice of being present, attentive, and fully engaged with life as it unfolds.

The key teaching is that real transformation comes not from external achievements or recognition but from the inner work of shifting from self-centeredness to a broader, more inclusive perspective. True freedom arises when I let go of the need to protect my ego and embrace the interconnectedness of all beings, recognizing that my happiness is inextricably tied to the happiness of others.

—

Compassion is seeing what hurts
and staying close anyway.
It’s the hand that helps you up
without asking for thanks.

It doesn’t turn away
when things get hard,
and it doesn’t fix,
just shows up.

It’s the quiet presence
that makes room for pain,
a choice to stand with someone
even when you can’t solve a thing.

Compassion is simply being there;
eyes open, heart open,
willing to share the weight
for as long as it takes.

— Sincerely, Boris

Sometimes, life comes down to the things left unsaid; the choices we once couldn’t make or the words we were too afraid to say. I’ve thought about this deeply, especially with the echoes of my last relationship, where love became something shared with my daughter too. Watching them together stirred something new in me, something that felt both tender and weighted, knowing how close we all were and the emotions that had layered over time.

In love and life, I’ve realized, timing is as much an enemy as it is a friend. There are relationships you hold in your heart long after they’re gone, because in some way, they’re stitched into who you are. Letting go, I learned, doesn’t mean forgetting. It means honoring what it gave you, allowing yourself to grow around the loss and the memories alike. And part of that growth, for me, has been opening up to my daughter, showing her the sides of love that endure; friendship, loyalty, and the courage to embrace life’s impermanence without resentment.

There’s a quiet strength in moving forward, I think, but it also means having the patience to live with what’s unresolved. Sometimes, the most meaningful connections leave us with loose ends. In those gaps between what we once shared and what remains, I try to find peace; not just for myself, but for the kind of man, father, and friend I want to be. And that, I’ve learned, might be the truest mark of love.

—

In the meadows of my daughter’s laughter,
she found a friend, a mentor, a guide;
a woman who spoke to the world as if every leaf and feather
carried a secret worth holding close.

I’d watch them both, fingers intertwined,
two souls bound in wonder,
eyes wide with the shared love of nature’s beauty.

They made gifts from paper and glue,
sketched treasures and braided wishes into chest full of memories,
as if they, together, could grow a world all their own.

She became more than love,
more than a hand to hold beside mine;
she was someone I’d have proudly called partner;
shoulder to shoulder, raising my daughter with honor.

But that world we dreamt, its warmth and wild simplicity,
is gone now, fading like the sunset that lit their sky.
I look at my daughter, and see traces of her curiosity,
the way they shared secrets I will miss greatly.

It is the saddest truth I carry;
to love what’s gone, and to walk forward in its dissolve.
Yet, for the bond they wove so carefully, so tenderly,
I am forever grateful, and forever grieving.

— Sincerely, Boris