if i just knew that would be the last, i hope i’d answer that last call. i would’ve picked it up without letting it ring twice, i will hold the phone so tight against my ear that i could hear the catch in your breath before you even spoke. if i had known the frequency was about to go flat, i ...Read more
She remembered everything. Every day, without fail, she opened her journal. She wrote her lover’s name as though writing it could keep it alive. As though the act itself could preserve something that time kept trying to dissolve. She wrote about ordinary things — the way she would hum under her bre...Read more
Sometimes I think you live somewhere inside my head now. And maybe that’s the safest place for you—because no one there can take you away from me. or maybe that’s the tragedy of it all. You live everywhere in my mind— there are spaces where I try so hard to think of anything but you. And I kno...Read more
She’s writing someone else’s poetry now. There was a time when I thought I would break if that ever happened. I thought I would measure every line, searching for pieces of myself hidden between her metaphors. I thought I would compare the way she writes about them to the way she once wrote about me...Read more
“Do not hold spaces in your heart for those who are not showing up to claim it.” Reading that line hit me hard. It woke me up to the reality that everything that happened in the past was, somehow, my fault. I kept believing my love was too strong to let go—but the truth is, it was the weakest kind. ...Read more
My mother doesn't need to yell to hurt—her voice is simply a blade honed by long practice, a precise, silver edge that cuts clean and deep, not through my skin, but through the very tissue of my confidence. Sometimes, a casual sentence from her is like a sudden, sharp skid on the road I thought I w...Read more
I didn’t know I liked blood until I saw it running down the knife. I cut myself—not deep, just enough to bleed. I watched it slowly drip, and I couldn’t stop looking. The red was bright. It looked almost pretty, like something made to be seen. As I watched the blood stain my skin, I kept thinking a...Read more
Have you ever felt it? That aching feeling that you're only living because dying takes time? That you're not really waiting for something beautiful, just... waiting for the end? I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but lately, it’s like I’ve stopped hoping for things. Not because I’m mad or bitte...Read more
I stayed stable in front of someone — composed, — even when everything inside me was falling apart. But instead of helping, they mocked me for being weak. “Stop having that kind of mindset. You’ll be fine. Stand on your own.” I understood what they meant. And it made me think. I’m not sad in the w...Read more
People always ask me, “Was she the one that got away?” Maybe they expect me to smile sadly, to look away and say yes. Maybe they think there's a story of regret behind what we had. But I always tell them no. You weren’t the one that got away. Because for someone to “get away,” they have to leave. ...Read more
I keep wondering what love really means—not just in romance, but in friendship, in family, in the simple day‑to‑day kindness that strangers show each other. I’ve never felt it. No one ever checks on me, asks how I’m doing, or even pauses to see if I’m okay. My parents don’t call to ask if I’ve eat...Read more
I feel lost today. I don’t know how to act or what to do. Part of me wants to get angry at the world—I have every right to be mad, to go a little crazy after all the hurt I’ve felt. Sometimes I even wonder if the pain inside me should count as an illness. Still, I hold myself together. Maybe I’m to...Read more
Love, I couldn’t stop my own hands from writing things about you, even when I know you’ll never see them. You’ve always been the only person for me—the waxing gibbous I’ll forever admire, the Gemini I once loved with everything in me. You were the woman of my all. I miss you. My journal is the onl...Read more
I had a weird dream last night. I was standing in a corridor, lined with portraits of faces I once knew. But one portrait, framed in sunlight and draped in the scent of old dry leaves, stood out. It's a blurry face, yet the emotions it evokes are as clear as day—a warmth, a comfort from a person I c...Read more