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Some souls have grown so numb to the quiet beauty of peace, they chase chaos just to remind themselves they’re still alive. They pick fights like flowers, sowing arguments where there could be understanding. Not because they want to hurt, but because they’ve forgotten how to feel anything else. Conflict becomes their comfort. Anger feels like intimacy. They confuse the adrenaline of destruction with the warmth of connection. And in their desperation to fill the void within, they begin to tear down everything around them, including the people who once tried to love them whole. It’s heartbreaking to witness someone self-destruct and call it love. To watch them light emotional fires just to sit in the warmth of temporary attention. They’ll drag you into their storms, then blame you for the lightning. And in their world, your calm becomes a threat, not a refuge. But here’s the truth: you are not responsible for saving a soul that refuses to see the difference between love and war. You are ...
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Last night, I dreamt I was a butterfly. I wasn’t myself pretending or imagining .... I was the butterfly. Light. Free. Effortless. I moved through the sky with no purpose other than to exist. There was no weight, no thought, no memory, only movement and air. Then I woke up. And something shifted inside me. The dream didn’t fade like they usually do. It clung to me, tender and haunting, as if part of me was still up there, floating somewhere between the clouds and silence. I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling both too heavy and too empty. The contrast between the dream and the real world was sharp...too sharp. In that dream, there was no pain. No overthinking. No pressure to explain who I am, what I want, or where I’m going. There was only the present moment, and I belonged to it completely. I didn’t feel lost. I didn’t feel judged. I just was. But here in this waking world, everything feels louder. The weight of expectations. The pressure to keep moving, to be productive, to smile even...
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Where had I been lately? I wasn’t hiding....... I wasn’t lost........ I was… becoming. While the world moved on without asking, I stepped away from its noise, not out of fear, but out of necessity. I chose silence over shallow sounds, solitude over shallow souls. I had been pouring back into myself, not just time or attention, but the pieces of me I had given away too freely. I reclaimed them all, one by one: the laughter I suppressed, the tears I dried too soon, the dreams I shelved to keep others comfortable. I filled my own cup until it overflowed with something resembling life again. In the stillness, I created. I took my pain, sharp, shapeless, maybe, and began to mold it. It screamed, it resisted, but I shaped it into poetry, rhythm, color, breath. What once wounded me now danced on canvases and pages, not for validation but for liberation. Art became my voice when I had none, my mirror when I couldn’t face myself. Some days, I got lost on purpose. I wandered through forgotten pa...
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Carved from Shadows

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I didn’t grow up in the warmth of lullabies or the comfort of bedtime stories. My childhood wasn’t cushioned, it was carved out of moments that felt too sharp for someone so young. While other kids chased kites in open fields, I was chasing questions through quiet hallways, tracing meaning in the cracks of forgotten places. I learned early that not all lessons come from teachers, and not all wounds come from falls. Time never moved in straight lines for me. I couldn’t measure it in birthdays or calendar pages. It felt like I was living in reverse, catching glimpses of things I hadn’t experienced yet but somehow already knew. There was always this strange familiarity in the unknown, like I’d been here before in ways I couldn’t explain. I drank from wells others passed by without a glance. I sat with silence until it began to speak, and I let the shadows stretch around me until they formed outlines of understanding. I didn’t fear the dark; I listened to it, and it taught me how to recogn...
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UNFOLDING

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Maybe not today, and maybe not in the soft hush of tomorrow, but someday, when the stars align in quiet rebellion, everything I’ve waited for will begin to make sense. The ache that has lived in my chest will loosen its grip. The longing that once kept me up at night will soften into something gentler, like a lullaby. Sleepless nights will turn into distant memories, like constellations in a sky that once trembled with fear, but now stands steady and sure. One day, I will rise not as someone barely getting by, but as the author of my own story, ink-stained, unshaken, and unapologetically alive. I won’t flinch when happiness comes. I won’t hold my breath when things feel good, waiting for them to fall apart. Instead, I’ll dance through uncertainty, barefoot in the middle of life’s storms, no longer afraid of falling, because I’ll know I can always rise. I will stop tasting life in tiny sips, afraid of taking too much. I’ll stop clinging to broken pieces, stop bowing to doubt. I will fin...
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THIS ALMOST IS HAUNTING ME

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It’s always me, shrinking, folding, dimming parts of myself just to keep you comfortable. I write messages like paper boats, full of everything I never say… and then I sink them before they reach you. I quiet my laugh, swallow my joy...because too much has always scared you.  But I don’t know how to love in pieces.I only know how to flood.To give everything. You never ask for it. And I never push it into your hands and whisper, “Take it. It’s yours.” Because deep down… I’m scared. Scared that if I confess how I feel, you’ll reject me.Worse, that you’ll run and tell your friends, my friends,and then all of you will laugh about it.About me. What a shame, right? To love this loud, this fully only to become the punchline in someone else's joke. So we stay here pretending. You act like you don’t notice, and I act like it doesn’t ache. But it does. It burns through me, especially when I wonder if maybe you do feel it too… but you’re just as scared. Maybe you’re waiting for me to go first...
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LOVING WITHOUT THE SPOTLIGHT

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Some things don’t need to be seen to be sincere. Pure intentions live quietly in the background, asking for nothing in return, expecting no recognition. They don’t shout. They don’t perform. They simply give, quietly and consistently, because they are rooted in something honest—something whole. When I show up for you, it’s not for the spotlight. It’s not for applause or acknowledgment. It’s because my heart knows your name even in silence. Pure intentions don’t keep score—they don’t say, “look at what I’ve done.” They say, “I was thinking of you, so I did it anyway.” Whether it’s a message at midnight, a prayer whispered on your behalf, or a sacrifice made without your knowledge—it’s all love. But not the kind that demands attention. The kind that flows without hesitation. It’s easy to do things for people when the world is watching. It’s much harder to do them when no one is. But that’s where the beauty lies. In the unseen moments. In the quiet choices. In the sacred intention behind ...
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