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 …
Some goodbyes don’t come with closure. Some losses aren’t loud. And some endings — even if they weren’t real, even if they lived only in our minds or screens or hearts — still leave us grieving. We attach. To people. To stories. To dreams. We walk with characters, live inside chapters, get entangled in slow …
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 a strange kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show on your face. It’s not loud. It doesn’t cry in public. It just sits there — quietly — in your chest. Heavy. Like you’re breathing through wet cotton. You’re not falling apart exactly. But you’re not okay either. You’re just… still standing. Barely. Sometimes, that’s what …
Some days, it just hits. Not like a storm, not like a crash. But like a quiet undoing. You’re lying there. Not really crying. Not really sleeping. Just… drained. Done. There’s this weight in your chest, but you’re too tired to name it. You try to trace what exactly is wrong, but your brain can’t …
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 …
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, …