Bloom

We’re adults now—at peace in solitude, finding comfort in our own company. Animals feel more familiar than people, and eating alone is no longer a quiet tragedy but a quiet peace. Friends come and go, and somehow, having none doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

We carry the weight of time, proving we can stand alone, unshaken. Our emotions are ours to manage, our words, ours to measure. There is no room for reckless blame, no one left to clean up after us but ourselves.

Still, I wish we find someone who makes our inner child feel safe, who lets us be unburdened, free. A love so gentle it holds us together when everything else falls apart, where silence is never heavy, and just being is enough. Someone who feels like home—so when we search for them in a crowd, we find their eyes already on us.

You have to travel a great distance to realize who is truly close.

The devil couldn’t reach me, so he made me watch my favorite person give up on me.

I looked at the books, wondering who might give me one with a note written for me on the first page.

I will never understand those who rush from one love to another, not because their hearts are full, but because they are afraid of the emptiness. Is it love they seek, or only the feeling of being needed? Do they never believe in waiting, in trusting that the love meant for them will find its way, no matter how long the silence lasts?

Life was simpler before we discovered the whispers that lived quietly in our minds.

Quite an irony, isn’t it? When I’m surrounded by people, my mind shuts down, but loneliness holds tight. Alone, thoughts surge, and others no longer seem needed.

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 :

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.