This piece gutted me. It's raw, layered, and haunting in a way that only the truth—or a truth—can be. JARMAGIC doesn’t flinch, and neither could I. Maverick's voice is so clear, it feels like he's sitting right beside you, telling a story he's too young to have had to carry.
The loneliness. The cycles. The flickers of hope that burn out too fast. The exhaustion of loving someone who's in freefall. It’s all here, and it’s unflinching.
No notes. Just breath held. And a heart cracked wide open.
This story gutted me. The restraint, the detail, the quiet implosions—every beat felt true. What hit hardest wasn’t the trauma itself, but the long ache of staying hopeful through it. The kind of hope you don’t even realize you’re still carrying until it breaks in your hands again.
You wrote Maverick with such deep realism—equal parts numbness, grit, and raw yearning. It’s rare to see a narrator this emotionally honest without slipping into melodrama. You held the line. And the ending… god, that ending. It didn’t try to resolve. It let it hang. Just like grief really does.
Thank you for writing something this devastating and this alive.
Absolutely! I appreciate you taking the time to express your thoughts. This is very helpful to me as the writer. I'm especially appreciative because I spent so much time on this story. A solid 6 weeks at the least, constantly working at getting it just right. I poured my heart and my soul into it. Really glad to hear that it resonated with you so well.
I thought it was “Nobody is home” too. Guess I am an illiterate thief. 😂
It's both! Or either? 😇
I was only trying to channel "disgruntled teen energy" 😅
It was meant to be wrong (or right) depending on the angle by which you looked at it.
A pun on changing his mother's name to, "Nobody" (because she was so absent)
Thanks for the reply 💛
This piece gutted me. It's raw, layered, and haunting in a way that only the truth—or a truth—can be. JARMAGIC doesn’t flinch, and neither could I. Maverick's voice is so clear, it feels like he's sitting right beside you, telling a story he's too young to have had to carry.
The loneliness. The cycles. The flickers of hope that burn out too fast. The exhaustion of loving someone who's in freefall. It’s all here, and it’s unflinching.
No notes. Just breath held. And a heart cracked wide open.
—🖤
This story gutted me. The restraint, the detail, the quiet implosions—every beat felt true. What hit hardest wasn’t the trauma itself, but the long ache of staying hopeful through it. The kind of hope you don’t even realize you’re still carrying until it breaks in your hands again.
You wrote Maverick with such deep realism—equal parts numbness, grit, and raw yearning. It’s rare to see a narrator this emotionally honest without slipping into melodrama. You held the line. And the ending… god, that ending. It didn’t try to resolve. It let it hang. Just like grief really does.
Thank you for writing something this devastating and this alive.
Absolutely! I appreciate you taking the time to express your thoughts. This is very helpful to me as the writer. I'm especially appreciative because I spent so much time on this story. A solid 6 weeks at the least, constantly working at getting it just right. I poured my heart and my soul into it. Really glad to hear that it resonated with you so well.