Another Podcast About Nothing

“Maybe in Another Life” by Christian G. Maybe in another life, I would’ve been ready. I would’ve loved you like I was supposed to— not from a place of fear or habit, but from presence, and a peace I hadn’t earned yet. Maybe in that life, I’d wake up early because I wanted to, not…

Grieving someone still here It’s a strange kind of grief. The kind where nothing final has happened… no funeral, no goodbye, no slammed doors or closed chapters. She’s just not mine anymore. Jessica still exists in the world. She still smiles the same way, I’m sure. Probably still makes people feel seen, still speaks softly…

Zach Bryan dropped again… And like he always does, he didn’t miss. It’s that kind of song that finds the bruise you’ve been pretending isn’t there. “Start over, find closure, and just say I’m sorry to that sweet girl who tore off that dress…” Funny how someone else’s words can hit like your own confession.…

I’ll probably keep asking you to go to things.Not in a pushy way… just the way someone does when they’re hoping for a different ending.A new page.Or even just a coffee with no pressure attached. I’ll keep tossing out invitations and inside jokes like they’re pennies in a wishing fountain.Concerts.Walks.Marathons.Talks.Little things.Big things.Anything that makes you…

You want to know how much I care?It’s in everything I don’t do.The texts I don’t send.The calls I don’t make.The way I fight the urge to reach out every single day…because I know that giving in would only serve me.That’s not love. That’s selfish. I had the chance before, and I threw it away. I fumbled something…

I hear people talk about love and loss like it’s a badge of honor. ‘Everything I’ve lost has claw marks on it,’ they say…proof they fought for it, bled for it, didn’t go down without a swing. But when I look back, I don’t see claw marks.I see clean breaks.Doors I didn’t run after.Words I…

Maybe I’m having an epiphany. Maybe I could’ve made it work. I look back and wonder if part of me always felt like I had to match her… to be just as good. As sweet. As loving. As effortlessly kind and open as she was. The kind of person everyone gravitates toward without even trying.…

I hate reading fiction because it messes with my head in the most beautiful, dangerous ways. One minute I’m following a character through a city that doesn’t exist, and the next, I’m looking at the people around me like they’re the story. I start reading everyone like a book… their eyes, their pauses, their nervous…

Everything I’m doing is a form of protest. I’m getting my degree not just for me but for every brown kid who’s been underestimated, overlooked, or told to stay in their lane. I want to be the bright Mexican man in the room—so when people look up, they see us. Represented. Respected. Present. I’m climbing…

Funny how the universe works. You go your way, I go mine… and somehow we still end up in the same places. Same city, same show, same moment… like something’s gently nudging us, whispering, “you’re not done yet.” Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s fate trying one more time. Maybe I’m delusional. Whatever it is, I’ve…