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Showing posts from June, 2025

It began like all beautiful tragedies do, with a glance. There was too much silence between heartbeats, and a feeling I couldn’t name until it was far too late. So I gather what I can from the wreckage, a memory, a touch, a trace of your voice, and carry it softly, like a song that never ends, echoing through the hollows of me. And when the nights grow long and silent, I feel you there, not as comfort, but as absence wearing the shape of love. M. | June 2025

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Sometimes I look around and wonder how everyone else seems to move so effortlessly through life, like they got the map I never received. I’ve always felt slightly out of step, like I missed some unspoken rule that makes belonging easier for them. And no matter how much I try to keep up, I’m always one breath behind. Maybe I’m different, flawed even – but that doesn’t make me a failure, right? I’m still me, I’m not pretending to be someone that I’m not. And isn’t there a kind of freedom in living as you are, no matter how far you’ve strayed from the path society says you should be walking on? M. | June 2025

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I don’t know which part of me is broken. Maybe it’s not just one part. Maybe it’s all of me, scattered in pieces I no longer recognize. I’ve been afraid for so long, terrified that if I let go, even just a little, I would fall apart completely. That the hurt I’ve buried so deeply would rise all at once and swallow me whole. So I stayed silent. I moved through the days like a ghost of who I used to be, hoping no one would notice the scars I was trying to hide. I thought that if I stayed still enough, maybe the pain would forget me. Maybe I could pass for whole. M. | June 2025

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We ran out of words and time. The space between us grew, slow and quiet, until it was too vast to cross. So we let go. Quietly, like breath released after too long. No slammed doors. No final screams. Just the slow collapses of a story we were too tired to finish. You turned one way, I turned the other, and the silence that followed didn’t feel like punishment. It felt like grief given a name. M. | June 2025

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Anything you do to survive is brave. Even the quiet things matter. Letting go. Stepping back. Choosing silence when you want to scream. Turning away from a closed door. They may feel like surrender, but they aren’t weakness, just ways of staying afloat when everything feels heavy. At least that’s what I tell myself when the heaviness returns, when memory leads me back to the door I never reopened. Survival isn’t always strength. Sometimes it’s walking away without asking why. I remind myself that breathing is enough, to let an ending stay an ending, to trust that not going back is also a way forward. M. | June 2025

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And if the world calls us back, let it wait. Let the clocks keep turning without us. For now, we are only here, two souls in a quiet carriage, wrapped in fog and fading light, learning the shape of peace again. Nothing more to chase. Nothing more to prove. Just the soft rhythm of the tracks and the promise that this time, we will arrive. Happy birthday dear muse, a day late, yet you never leave my thoughts. M. | June 2025

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If you stay, dear June, stay lightly - like sunlight through tired curtains, like warmth that doesn’t ask too much. I don’t have much left to hold, but I’m still here, quiet and worn, and somehow still hoping. Some part of me still believes in gentleness, even after everything. And perhaps that’s enough for now. M. | June 2025

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