Nobody warns you how ruthless change can be. It doesn’t knock. It barges in. Sometimes it wrecks everything first — the plans you made, the people you counted on, the identity you wore like a second skin. You don’t always choose the shift. Sometimes it chooses you. It happens in the silence after betrayal. In …
How long have you been holding your breath, waiting for them to come around? Waiting for the message, the call, the words that would make it right. I’m sorry. Two words that could have healed so much — but they never came. Here’s the hardest truth: they might never come. Not because your pain didn’t …
Ever wonder why some people can sit in silence, untouched — and you, you feel the weight of it pressing on your chest? You sense the shift before a word is spoken. You pick up the pause, the sigh, the faint change in someone’s face — and something inside you starts scanning: What did I …
There are moments you stay quiet. Not because you have nothing to say, but because you don’t want to lose them. You don’t want to make it worse. You don’t want to be “too much.” So, you nod. You smile. You swallow the lump in your throat. And slowly… you start leaving yourself behind. It …
Failing — and failing enough — is one of the most important things we can do. Yet for the longest time, I treated it like something to hide. I didn’t want anyone to see the cracks, the wrong turns, the moments I fell flat. Most of us don’t. We curate the parts of ourselves that …
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 …
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 …