I wonder how life is for those who bottle their feelings like poison, sipping it slow until it consumes them, until the day the bottle shatters. And when the venom spills, when the damage is irreversible, all they are left with are trembling hands and a single, agonizing thought: this was never meant to happen.
If you ever see a post of me holding lilies, my smile and eyes speaking what words cannot, just know—it’s him.
Perhaps, our ‘we have made it’ moment will unfold in the little corner of ours, where the quiet hours of evening settles as the sun sets and the light softens, he sits on the counter, swinging his legs while I bake his favourite dish, the air filled with our endless talks and laughter.
And if love finds me again, I hope it’s someone who understands that my isolation is how I cope. Someone gentle and calm, who offers quiet comfort instead of questions, with no blame or impatience.
Messages in mug :
And my final act of love would be to force myself to erase you from my memories.
Do others ever wonder the same, or does this dread belong only to me? That unsettling thought after a day of laughter, when the world seemed so light—what if the evil eye shadows my happiness, and my spark fades ?
It takes a long season of self hatred, neglect and ruin where you forget yourself completely to be this soft, to carry a childlike spirit, to regain your strength and feel whole.
Could you imagine resting your head on his shoulder, drifting off to sleep without a single worry ?
That’s your answer.
The devil couldn’t reach me, so he made me a prisoner of my own thoughts, forever trapped in them.