Here’s what nobody tells you about the in-between: it’s where you actually find yourself.

Captured by Mitchell Royel in the fashion district. Vibes are immaculate. We're listening to Your Song by Rita Ora on repeat—that track still hits different every time. Pure energy.

We’ve been living in this liminal space—you know the one. Where we’re not quite together, not quite apart. Where “friends with benefits” becomes code for “we’re terrified to name what this is.” Where every makeup feels like a small resurrection and every breakup feels like we’re learning to breathe underwater.

And we’re done apologizing for it.

Frequency of Transition

There’s this thing that happens when we’re in the thick of transformation. The world gets loud. Everyone has an opinion about what we should do, who we should be, how we should heal. But lately, we’ve been learning to tune into a different frequency entirely.

We only want to hear the songs that make us feel alive.

Not the sad ones. Not the bitter ones. Not the “I told you so” anthems from well-meaning friends who think they know our story better than we do. We’re talking about the songs that remind us that even in the mess—especially in the mess—we’re still capable of feeling everything.

On Makeups+the Art of Returning

We’ve broken up three times. Maybe four, if you count that week in March where we “took space” but still texted at 2 AM.

Each time we come back together, people ask us why. Like we owe them an explanation. Like love is supposed to be linear. Like growth doesn’t sometimes look like circling back to see if we’ve both changed enough to try again.

Here’s our truth: Sometimes the person who breaks your heart is also the person who teaches you how big your heart actually is.

And sometimes? We’re not ready the first time. Or the second. Sometimes we need to leave and come back and leave again before we understand what we’re actually choosing.

Flow State of Feeling

We’ve been leaning hard into hyperfocus lately. When everything in our relationship status feels uncertain, there’s something sacred about finding the things that make us forget time exists.

For us, it’s been:

Writing at 3 AM when the words pour out like confession
Running until our thoughts quiet down to just breath and pavement
Creating things with our hands—pottery, paintings, playlists that tell the story we can’t speak out loud yet

This is where we’ve learned the difference between distraction and devotion. Distraction numbs you. Devotion wakes you up.

In flow state, we’re not running from the complexity of us. We’re running toward the fullest version of ourselves. The ones who can hold paradox. The ones who don’t need everything to be resolved to know we’re whole.

Friends with Benefits+
the Lies We Tell Ourselves

Let’s be honest about what “friends with benefits” really means:

It means we’re brave enough to stay close but too scared to go all in.

It means we’re practicing intimacy with training wheels on.

It means we’re both hoping the other person will be the first to admit they want more.

We’re not judging it. We’ve lived it. We’re in it. But we’re also not pretending it’s casual when our hearts do backflips every time we see each other’s names light up our phones.

The benefit isn’t the physical part. The benefit is getting to keep each other in our lives while we figure out if we’re strong enough to risk losing this by wanting everything.

This Transitional Season

Spring is doing that thing where it can’t decide if it’s still winter. That’s us right now.

And we’re learning to be okay with not knowing. With the fact that some seasons are just about transition—not destination. Some chapters are just about becoming—not arriving.

We used to think we needed to have it all figured out. The relationship status. The five-year plan. The clear narrative that makes sense to everyone watching from the outside.

But now? We only want to sing the songs that feel true right now. Even if they’re messy. Even if they’re complicated. Even if they change tomorrow.

What We Know for Sure

We’ve changed the frequency we operate on. Before this, we were all minor keys and melancholy. Now, even in the uncertainty, even in the back-and-forth, even in the “what are we doing?”—we feel alive.

That’s not nothing.

That’s not casual.

That’s not something we’re willing to diminish just because it doesn’t fit into neat categories.

So here’s our open letter to anyone else living in the in-between:

Your transitional season is not a failure. It’s a composition.

The breakups taught us what we won’t tolerate. The makeups taught us what we can’t live without. The friends-with-benefits phase taught us that intimacy is complicated and that’s okay. The hyperfocus taught us that we’re whole even when our relationship status isn’t.

And all of it—every messy, beautiful, confusing moment—is writing the song only we can sing.

We’re choosing to sing it loud.

Even if we don’t know how it ends yet.

With love and zero apologies,
Ryder

P.S. — If you’re waiting for permission to feel everything while you figure it out: this is it. Feel it all. You’re not doing it wrong. You’re doing it human.

WE'RE NOT DOING IT WRONG, WE'RE DOING IT HUMAN