The Way Back to Soft

A modern fairytale on learning how to love, trust, and stay.

(Love, Pynn – Lyfestyle Growth Stories)

Love Was Never the Firework—It Was the Ember

Love, for me, wasn’t the grand ballroom entrance.

It was the after-midnight walk home.

Quiet. Steady. Still glowing from magic no one else saw.

An ember, not a firework.

I’ve been on the kind of roller coaster that doesn’t promise thrills, but gives lessons. Not the kind you scream on for fun—but the kind that teaches you how to hold on, even when your grip is fading.

Learning to Stay Instead of Run

I used to leave. Gently, dramatically, silently—whatever form escape took that day.

Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t yet know how to stay.

I mistook the door for freedom.

I mistook stillness for weakness.

Trust was a language I didn’t speak yet. I often misread his intentions and felt like mine were constantly misunderstood too. I wanted to be seen, especially in my work. In my words. In my want. And I didn’t always know how to explain that.

I Used to Mistake Intentions

I used to mistake intentions. His, and mine. I’d hear something that wasn’t said, feel slighted when there was no harm meant. And I believed I was being misunderstood too—like my softness was being misread as strategy, or my vulnerability mistaken for weakness. It created distance. And I didn’t always know how to close it.

There was even a night—his birthday dinner—when my mood took over. I caught an attitude, and we ended up leaving before we could even sing Happy Birthday or bring out a cake. It wasn’t about that moment, not really. It was everything beneath it—miscommunication, unspoken expectations, emotions we didn’t yet know how to hold together.

Which was the hardest part, because the day had been majestic.

We started with brunch by the beach, watched a Lakers victory (he usually watches games with the volume off while we’re on the phone), shared sweet treats, and even got a couples massage. It was thoughtful. Tender. One of those days that feels like love is actually working.

Until it wasn’t.

But I had to choose: stay in the shadows of assumption, or step into the light of truth.

My Moments of Crazy…

I was always the one walking away first.

But the one time he finally got upset—really upset—and stopped answering,

I unraveled.

He usually answers all my calls on the very first ring.

So I called. A hundred times. Just to hear his voice,

then pretend everything was okay when he finally picked up. No accountability, just a “Hey. What’s up?”

One of my most unforgettable meltdowns?

At the very end of this piece, I’ll include the screenshot he took of his call log,

me, mid-spiral, over 100 missed calls deep.

A little unhinged. A lot in love.

I’ve shown up to the beach near his house in the middle of the night. And asked him to meet me there.

No plan. No script. Just a quiet, hope that maybe I could fix it…

even when I didn’t know how.

Because the truth is…

he’s not someone I’m willing to lose.

The Birthday We Missed (and How I Made It Right)

Three weeks after that dinner, I returned.

With a strawberry cake from his favorite bakery.

Candles. A second chance.

I asked him to come outside. I sang—quiet, but real.

He smiled and said: “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

And maybe I didn’t. But I do now.

Real Love, in the Quiet Things

This man has made me talk through things I thought I couldn’t.

He never pressured me to stay—but I kept coming back.

One day he looked at me and said:

“You keep leaving and coming back, and I’m just watching you run in circles.”

I realized I had been waiting to be rescued from a story I was writing myself into.

But fairytales don’t always come with saviors.

Sometimes the spell you’re under is your own fear.

And the real magic? Is learning to stay.

Thoughtfulness as a Love Language

He’s thoughtful in ways I didn’t know how to receive at first.

The sunflower bouquets that show up like little spells against a hard day.

The way he plans quality time—not rushed, always considered.

He chooses restaurants that serve crème brûlée now. All because one night, we had the creamiest, dreamiest version, topped with warm glazed pears, and I fell in love. With the dessert. With the moment. Maybe with him a little more, too.

Since then, we’ve tasted so many variations. It’s like a quiet little ritual that’s become ours.

Hopefully, one day, we’ll try them all over the globe. A love story told in caramelized sugar.

And the gifts? Always intentional.

When I moved last year, my Rihanna coffee table book went missing. Heavy, luxe, unforgettable… and gone. And guess who replaced it? Yep, he replaced it. Nearly $200. No hesitation.

He knows I’m a Barb (obviously), and asked him if he could get me either Pink Friday or Pink Friday 2 on vinyl, or maybe a perfume. He didn’t choose.

He got both vinyls.

Then, weeks later, he surprised me with the Pink Friday 2 perfume, too. Like he wanted to love me in every language I speak.

Oh, and he knows I love to watch Emily in Paris, so when I sent him this $10 camera case on Amazon I really liked, he ordered it right away. Anddddd... I got this cool pink Bluetooth/White-Noise speaker that looks like a record player.

When Presence Becomes Intimacy

Our intimacy changed over time. It stopped being about just physicality and became about presence—spiritual, emotional, grounding.

There are moments when he holds me and I melt.

Moments where we fit like Tetris.

Where his energy anchors mine in ways I never saw coming.

I Asked to Be Included

At one point, I asked him to include me more in his world. He responded by planning a dinner with his most beloved human, his mother.

And I said never mind.

Not because I didn’t want to go. But because I felt like he might’ve shared too much about my craziness.

That maybe I had already messed it up.

I’d also like to add, I’m not crazy all by myself. He is too. LOL

But I’d love to meet someone so important to him. And instead of feeling ashamed of the process, I’m proud of the progress.

There’s nothing embarrassing about putting in the work to love better.

To get it right.

Growth, Regret, and Coming Back

In the beginning, I made the mistake of oversharing—venting my emotions before I had even fully unpacked them. I expected my people to rally around my emotions, but I hadn’t yet done the work to understand myself or what I was really learning.

I regret that now.

Not because I wasn’t hurt, but because I didn’t yet realize how much growing I still had to do.

And I did grow.

Into someone who can love better.

Love softer. Love right.

This Isn’t a Fairytale—But It Is a Spell

We’ve gone through every emotion on the wheel—rage, silence, laughter, confusion, tenderness.

And what matters most? We went through it.

This isn’t a fairytale.

But it is a kind of spell.

A becoming.

A return.

A love that doesn’t need a glass slipper to be real.

And if he’s reading this…

Hey baby,

Thanks for helping me grow.

I know I look a mess trying to get it right,

but like I promised—I won’t be crazy forever.

I love you.

With love and glitter,

Pynnderella, The Fairytale Connoisseur