Empathy is supposed to be a light—something that softens the hard edges of the world. It’s what people praise—what crowns you ‘good.’ But even light can burn. What if it can be something else—something sharper? What if empathy, in the wrong hands, cuts deeper than hate ever could? Dark empathy isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream. …
You think you hate me. But you don’t. You cling to me. I’m the weight on your chest when the world says, go. I’m the voice that tells you, stay right where you are. I am not laziness. I am not fear. I’m older than that. I’ve been growing inside you with every broken promise …
To be human is to ache and to long. It is to carry contradictions: strength and softness, faith and doubt, brilliance and brokenness — sometimes all at once. It’s waking up hopeful, and by evening, questioning everything. It’s loving people who may never love us the same way back. It’s fighting for dreams we sometimes …
There’s this thing that happens. When someone hurts you—really hurts you— it’s not always sadness that shows up first. Sometimes, it’s fire. This unbearable urge to lash out. To hurt them the way they hurt you. To shake something. Break something. Say that one thing that will land like a slap. And in that moment, …
Sometimes, it starts so quietly, you don’t even realise what’s happening. You begin adjusting. Toning yourself down. Not to deceive—but to connect. To be liked. To be chosen. To not feel so… alone. You say yes when you mean no. You ignore what hurts. You twist yourself into someone easier to accept. And over time, …
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s just that moment when you’re saying something and they look away. Or change the subject. Or act like you’re taking too long. And you notice. Even if you pretend not to. You feel yourself pull back. You don’t mean to. It just happens. A small part of you shuts …
There are days you want better. You wake up and think, “Okay, let’s try again today.” Maybe it’s something small—like breaking a habit. Or holding a boundary. Or making a choice you know deep down is good for you. But then that moment comes. The actual doing. And suddenly it feels like someone just asked …
There are moments that play back in the mind like a scene someone else acted out. A look. A comment. A tone. A decision that, at the time, felt small—but now feels sharp and out of place. Almost like it came from someone else entirely. But it didn’t. It came from a tired version of …
It’s weird, isn’t it? You know better. You know what not to do. You know what happened to them when they did that exact same thing. You even nodded wisely when they told their story, maybe threw in a “that’s mad” or “I’d never let that be me.” But then, it is you. And suddenly, …
Guilt doesn’t scream. It just sits there. Heavy. Quiet. Always there. Right in your chest. Right in the back of your mind. Like maybe if you’d said something earlier. Maybe if you’d tried harder. Maybe if you were… better. You keep going over everything. Looking for the moment it slipped. Looking for what you missed. …