Can We Talk?

There’s something that happens when two people try to love each other from different places — when one gives openly and the other is still learning how to receive. It creates a space where things go unsaid, feelings get misinterpreted, and even the deepest love can feel lost. This isn’t about one person being right or wrong. It’s about how, sometimes, two people can feel so disconnected despite their best efforts to connect.

From where I stand, I try. I give. I show up, consistently, with everything I have. But when that love feels unreciprocated, or worse, unnoticed, it starts to wear on me. It’s not about grand gestures or even time — it’s about connection. About being seen. Heard. And while society often tells men to hold their feelings in, the truth is, we feel too. We hurt when we feel unseen, and sometimes, we just need to ask — Can we talk?

This isn’t just a gender issue. Both men and women experience the pain of emotional disconnect. We both know what it’s like to give without receiving. This is about relationships where communication isn’t balanced, where one person struggles to express love in a way the other can fully grasp. So, can we talk, for a minute?

Can we talk, for a minute? I’ve asked this question in my mind more times than I can count. Not because I think there’s something wrong with you, but because I feel us slipping, and it scares me. I don’t believe you’re hiding something, I just believe you’re hurting. I can feel your energy pulling away, and no matter how much I reach out, I can’t seem to get close enough to touch you anymore. It’s like we’re standing in the same room, but the distance between us feels impossible to close.

I keep trying to understand — How ever do you want me? How ever do you need me? I ask because I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong, where I’m falling short. I’m giving what I think you want, what I believe will make you feel safe. But I don’t know if I’m getting it right. Sometimes, I’m not even sure you know what you need. I want to be there for you, but I’m lost, too. Every time we talk, it feels like I’m trying to navigate a conversation with no map. I’m walking blind, hoping I’ll say the right thing, do the right thing to bring you back.

You’ve told me before that I’m the best man you’ve ever been with, and I believe you mean it. But why doesn’t it feel that way? Why do I feel invisible, like my efforts go unnoticed? I do everything to show you I care — buying you flowers, taking care of things so you don’t have to worry. You don’t even have to ask. I’m here, consistent, trying to show up for you in every way I can. But when I ask, “Baby, can we talk for a minute?” it feels like you’ve already drifted. It’s like I’m talking to a version of you that’s too far gone to hear me anymore.

Back to life, back to reality.

You said you wanted security — financial stability, a sense of peace. So I took that on. I make sure the bills are handled so you can feel safe. You don’t have to think about it; I want you to be able to save, to have space to breathe. I thought that would help you feel secure, that it would bring you comfort. But when I ask for something as simple as acknowledgment, or a little more intimacy, it feels like I’m asking too much. I know you’ve been through a lot, I know you’ve carried your own pain, but sometimes it feels like I’m holding us both up, and I’m not sure how much longer I can do it alone.

And that’s the hardest part, because how ever do you want me? How ever do you need me? I’m trying to give you everything I can. I give you space for your pain, your struggles. I listen when you need to talk about your past, about the trauma that still haunts you. I’ve been there through your darkness, holding you when you felt like you couldn’t hold yourself. I’ve tried to show you that I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere. But when I need to talk — when I’m the one carrying the weight — I don’t feel like I have that same space. I don’t want to seek it elsewhere, but I need to feel like you see me too, that my struggles are valid. Baby, can we talk for a minute?

Back from a fantasy, yes, tell me now, take the initiative. I’ll leave it in your hands, until you’re ready… for relationships.

I get it. I know it’s not easy for you. I know you’re doing your best, and that your struggles run deeper than I can always understand. But sometimes, it feels like you’re not just shutting me out, but shutting yourself off from love entirely. And that hurts. I’ve never asked you to be perfect, just to meet me halfway. I’ve never wanted to compete with your past or your pain, but when I ask, “Can we talk, for a minute?” it feels like we’re having the same conversation over and over again, and nothing changes.

Back to life, back to the present time.

You say I’m different from the others, and I believe that’s true. I know I’m not like them. But why doesn’t it feel like that when we’re together? Why does it feel like no matter how much I give, I can never quite reach you? I’m trying. I’m here. But I need you to meet me in this. Can we talk, for a minute?

I need more than just words. I need more than just hearing “you’re the best man I’ve ever dated.” I need you to show me that I matter, that what I’m doing means something to you. I need intimacy, affection — connection. You tell me I’m what you’ve always wanted, but when I give you that love, it feels like you don’t know how to accept it. I’m not asking for grand gestures, just acknowledgment that my efforts aren’t in vain. Can we talk, for a minute?

Now I… built up my confidence. The next… next time you come my way, I’ll know just what to say.

But will I? Every time we try to talk, it feels like the conversation goes in circles. We’re both trying, in our own way, but somehow we keep missing each other. How ever do you want me? How ever do you need me? I just want to understand.

Back to life, back to reality.

I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for acknowledgment, for love that feels mutual. I’ve been patient. I’ve tried to understand. I know you’re carrying a lot, and I respect that. But love can’t be one-sided. I need you to meet me halfway. Baby, can we talk, for a minute?

I see the greatness in you. I always have. Even when you can’t see it yourself. But sometimes, I feel like you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop, like you don’t fully trust the love we’ve built. That’s what hurts the most — because when things are good between us, they’re great. But when they aren’t, I feel like I’m fighting for something that’s slipping away.

Back to life, back to reality.

I don’t want to keep asking, “Can we talk, for a minute?” if nothing’s going to change. I love you, and I want to be here with you. But I need to know that you feel the same, that you’re in this with me. Come on and talk to me baby, Come on, baby, I wanna know, I wanna know your pain.

Listen to the Songs:

This piece draws inspiration from two timeless tracks that speak to the heart of love and communication — Tevin Campbell’s “Can We Talk” and Soul II Soul’s “Back to Life.” These songs echo the longing for connection and the struggle to bridge emotional gaps. Listening to them before or after reading will bring even more depth to this narrative, reflecting on how we often speak, but fail to truly communicate. Remember, this isn’t just about men or women — it’s about how we all experience emotional disconnect in relationships.

A Final Thought:

While this piece is written from a man’s perspective, emotional unavailability and disconnection are not confined to any gender. We all carry the weight of past hurt, trauma, and experiences that shape how we show up in our relationships — whether romantic, familial, or otherwise. These emotional walls aren’t built overnight, but they can be dismantled with time, understanding, and communication.

It’s important to recognize that everyone struggles with these feelings at some point. It’s not about blame, but about learning how to listen, to show up for one another, and to bridge the gaps that past pain has created. Let this piece be a starting point for conversations about emotional intelligence — a space where we can reflect on how we love, how we communicate, and how we heal. The goal is not perfection, but progress — building connections that thrive on empathy and understanding.

Can we talk about it?