Mr. Fireplace
"I know you are out there."
He is not the man who enters a room and changes the temperature.
He is the man who holds it steady.
He sits beside me—not close at first.
Close comes later, and never by announcement.
There is a rhythm to him.
Unhurried.
Unimpressed by noise.
Uninterested in proving anything to anyone.
And yet…
there is something unmistakable beneath the calm.
A warmth that is not passive.
A presence that does not drift.
We watch old films sometimes.
Not because we must—but because they give us something to lean into together.
At some point, without looking,
his hand finds mine.
Not searching.
Not asking.
Just… arriving.
I glance at him—
the way one does when no one is watching.
But he notices.
Of course he does.
And when our eyes meet,
there it is—
that look.
Not young.
Not urgent.
Not hungry in the way the world defines hunger.
But unmistakably alive.
“You still do this to me.”
And I smile, because…
he does.
We laugh more than I expected.
Soft laughter.
The kind that doesn’t interrupt the moment—
it deepens it.
A line from a movie.
A missed lyric.
His voice just slightly off when he hums along to a song we both know.
We don’t correct each other.
We let the music carry us instead.
The world does not disappear with him.
We simply choose what enters.
Noise stays outside.
But music—
music is always welcome.
Sometimes it’s Phil Collins drifting through the room.
Sometimes something older, slower…
something that knows time has passed and isn’t afraid of it.
He is affectionate in ways that don’t demand attention.
He leans down, kisses my neck gently… and moves on.
Women know the difference between being chosen… and being used.
It’s not in grand gestures, but in the quiet continuity of attention—
the passing touch, the gentle kiss, the way she is remembered throughout the day.It is not urgency she responds to.
It is intention.And when she feels that, she doesn’t question her place—
she rests in it.
A pause behind me… just long enough to be felt.
A quiet, almost amused exhale when I say something he already knew I would say.
There is desire there.
But it does not rush forward.
It waits.
It lingers.
It understands that time has already proven what needs no urgency.
We do not close out the world.
We close out what does not belong to us.
And what remains is something softer…
and far more powerful.
We did not outgrow passion—
we outgrew urgency.What remained was something quieter,
and somehow… more alive.
He turns toward me now,
just slightly,
as the film continues to play.
The fire reflects in his eyes.
And I realize—
this is not the absence of fire.
This is the kind that stays.
With warmth that lingers,
From the Flight Deck ✈️