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We thought we were made of scars, but they were constellations maps leading us back to each other. And how could I not love a soul that was carved from the same longing as mine? You make me feel seen in a world that so easily forgets my name. You make me feel wanted in a world that remembers my hands only in need. When the hours dissolve into silence, when screams fade into whispers, you make me forget the weight of it all. In the end, our reunion will be quiet stars watching, the breeze gentle, for the world has finally learned that peace is long overdue, and we have suffered enough. M. | March 2025

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Sometimes all I want is to sit still while the whole world rushes past me. Sit on the beach at dusk, watching the sky hold its last streaks of orange and lavender, listening to the waves arrive and leave as the wind sighs for the night. I sought and claimed my place among the world's many, yet what I longed for was to be in the company of my own presence. To let the world carry on without asking me to follow. To let my thoughts run free. For they remind me of all the things I pretend not to care about. They are brutal, yes, but honest. Often sad, yet kind. Always alone, but never lonely. Perhaps, for once, I can watch the world go by. And perhaps I can leave a little of myself here with the tide. Between here and elsewhere, some part of me will always remain. M. | September 2026

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When the night comes, we'd lie on our backs beneath a velvet sky, watching the stars dance across its endless darkness, drunk on a beauty existed long before us. And for a little while, we would forget that we were ever meant to be anywhere else. Perhaps there is a kind of solitude reserved for the mad, a place where the world falls away and neither of us has to be afraid of being too much. For I have long decided that the strangest thing of all is believing we were ever meant to be anything other than ourselves. And perhaps we were never meant to fit into the world, but to find one another in its vastness and make a little world of our own. M. | September 2026

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Here is a piece about how conflicted I am. I am conflicted about posting it as well. Anyway, here it is. 😌 ****** They call us the confused generation. Perhaps they are right. But we are not confused because we don't know anything. We are confused because we know too much. We know about boundaries, but we were raised to be considerate. We know about choosing ourselves, but we were taught to take care of everyone. We know leaving is sometimes necessary, but we also know what it feels like to be left. We know rest is productive, but we have spent our lives measuring our worth by what we can endure. We know love shouldn't hurt, but we also know love is rarely simple. We know we should have a five-year plan while barely knowing what we want to do next Tuesday. We are fully aware that we were given more choices than the generations before us, and somehow, that made choosing harder. We can be anything, so we spend years wondering who we are supposed to be. We are told not to settle, but nobody tells us what to do with the loneliness that comes from leaving. We are told to choose ourselves, but not what to do when choosing ourselves means disappointing the people we love. But perhaps we are not confused. Maybe we are simply trying to live with all the things we have learned to know at once. And perhaps we are simply a generation aware of how complicated it is to be a person. M. | September 2026

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More than we would like to admit is that, the simplest yet hardest dream we could possibly have is to be happy. We are human, after all. We get tangled in our emotions, our circumstances, the things that hurt, the things that need fixing. And so we keep telling ourselves we will be happy when life gets a little easier. When work gets better. When our family is okay. When the future makes sense. When the person we love is okay. We keep placing happiness somewhere ahead of us, as though it is a reward waiting at the end of everything we have to survive. But perhaps we need to learn the difference between choosing happiness and allowing ourselves to feel it. Not in the shallow way of “just choose happiness", because sometimes life makes those words feel almost insulting. We cannot choose grief away. We cannot wish exhaustion or fear into disappearing. But perhaps happiness can exist alongside them. A good coffee. A book that makes us forget the world for an hour. A weekend spent with someone we love. None of these things fixes what is wrong. And maybe that is the point. We do not have to wait for everything to be okay before we are allowed to be happy. Maybe happiness is not something we find at the end of everything. Maybe it is simply something we give ourselves permission to feel when it finds us. Even in the middle of everything. M. | September 2026

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And then morning came. Somewhere between sleep and waking, something inside me shifted. Those feelings, hope and love, were still there, I think. I just couldn't reach them. Everything felt distant again. Maybe the thing that once protected me no longer knows when it is okay to let go. My mind rearranged itself into a place I didn't recognize, and suddenly I was tired of everything. Numb for no particular reason. So I pretended. I smiled. I talked. I moved through my day as though I was okay. Maybe that is what I have become good at, looking okay while quietly disappearing from myself. I don't know how many times I can keep finding my way back. And now the night is here. Slumber land is calling. And I'm afraid to fall asleep and wake up to another spotless, soulless room in my mind. Afraid to wake up to another stranger of myself. M.| September 2026

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Love with him is quiet. Steady and peaceful. It lives in the ordinary days as much as the beautiful ones, in the little things that are easy to miss but somehow stay with me. A familiar warmth in changing days. A voice I know, a presence, the same person at the end of every day, even when the day itself has been anything but gentle. He doesn't make me wonder. He doesn't make me chase. He just stays. He is the steady flame in my winter night, the warmth that stays long after the day has gone quiet. My little haven in a world that rarely stays still. My constant. M. | September 2026

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