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Talking Story with Arlo |
Open Arms
By Arlo Agogo - a human creator
In this spinning world of bad news and scrolls, endless wars and the grinding teeth of affordability, where the grass always looks greener on the other side until you get there and find it’s just more dirt and bills
There’s still one pure move left that cuts through all the static. I stand with my arms open.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Wide. Vulnerable.
Foolish in the best way. Every time Roxanne has been gone for any stretch—work, travel, family, whatever pulls her away for hours or days I plant myself in the doorway or the living room or wherever she first enters the house.
I wait with my arms spread like I’m trying to hug the whole damn universe just to get to her. She drops whatever she’s carrying. Purse, bags, coat, the weight of the road. No words. No laugh. Just a running start and then she leaps.
Straight into the open arms. And we lock in. Tight. Real.
The kind of embrace that says everything the tired world forgot how to say. I’ve tried this with others before her. Different women, different chapters. Some looked at me like I was performing. Others gave a half-hearted pat on the back and moved on to the casual script: “Hey, how are you? Glad you’re back.”
The feelings that followed those lukewarm reunions taught me something sharp—affection isn’t automatic. Some hearts don’t trust the grand gesture anymore. They’ve been burned too many times by people who open their arms but close their souls.
But Roxanne?
Ten years and she has never let me down, not once.
She tells me now that as she drives those last two hours home, she’s already picturing it.
My open arms. The safe landing.
The place where the journey ends and home begins.
Open arms for the girl you’re spending your life with. Not just a greeting. A reset button.We have this unspoken agreement, a nonverbal gig we both honor.
Open arms for the girl you’re spending your life with. Not just a greeting. A reset button.We have this unspoken agreement, a nonverbal gig we both honor.
When I come home, I don’t get the running jump.
I get something quieter, deeper, and just as powerful: the stillness of her smile. That warm, extended embrace that says “you made it” without needing to announce it. We stand there in the kitchen or hallway, sometimes for a long minute or two, before the day’s momentum kicks back in. It’s like we both need that pause.
That moment of re-connection before the laundry, the dinner, the bills, the news, the everything else tries to pull us apart again.
It a true joy. Even when things are rough.
Even when the world outside has clawed at us all day. That extended embrace turns the volume down on the chaos and brings us back to square one—as a team.
There’s a particular magic in those two or three seconds when we first lock eyes from about twenty feet apart. I’m standing there, arms already open.
She’s just walked in, or stepped into the restaurant, or arrived wherever we’re meeting......
For that brief suspended beat, time stretches.
We see each other clearly. No words yet. Just recognition. She knows she’s reached her destination. Not the house. Not the city. Me.
This is home. I ’m thinking: She’s here.
This is gonna be great. After all the miles, the meetings, the noise—she’s here. She’s thinking something like: He is here. Arms open. I’m safe. I can let go now.
In those two or three seconds, everything else falls away. The arguments we might have had last week, the stresses of money, the headlines screaming from every screen—they all shrink.
What remains is the simple, ridiculous, beautiful truth: we still choose each other in the most physical, unguarded way possible.
We meet at a restaurant.
She walks in from across the room. Instead of waving or doing the polite nod, I stand up, push my chair back, and open my arms right there in front of everyone. No hiding it. No playing it cool.
She stops about twenty feet away. Just for a moment.
We both wait. There’s this delicious little pause where the excitement builds. The anticipation. The quiet thrill of knowing what’s about to happen. She smiles that forever smile of hers. I feel my own chest loosen.
Then she closes the distance and we wrap up in each other while the table watches, some smiling, some probably thinking we’re a little much.
Doesn’t matter. In that moment, the whole room disappears. It’s just us reaffirming the pact: we’re still in this.
Open arms says: You matter more than the noise. The stillness of her smile when I walk in says:
You are my peace.
That extended embrace, whether it’s the running jump or the quiet hold, resets the meter. It reminds us we’re not just two individuals sharing space and bills. We’re a team.
It’s not perfect. We’re not perfect.
Arms open. Smile waiting. Two or three seconds of pure recognition.
Then the leap.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
