I was a broken woman,
all jagged edges and unfinished healing,
running from the ghosts that knew my name.
I wore my past like chains around my ankles,
each regret a weight,
each wound a reason to keep moving,
to never stay long enough
for anyone to see how damaged I felt.
I mastered the art of disappearing.
I built walls from old heartbreak,
hid behind smiles,
and convinced myself that love
was a place I would never belong.
Then you found me.
Not with force,
not with promises,
not with a cage.
You captured me with your heart.
With patience that never demanded,
with kindness that never wavered,
with a love so steady
it made my storms feel less frightening.
You saw the frightened woman
beneath the armor,
the exhausted soul
beneath the survival.
And instead of running when you found the cracks,
you filled them with understanding.
For the first time,
I stopped looking over my shoulder.
For the first time,
home wasn’t a place I was searching for—
it was the feeling I found in you.
I was a broken woman running from yesterday,
certain that my past would always outrun me.
Then your heart caught mine.
And somehow,
without chains,
without conditions,
without asking me to become someone else,
you taught me that even broken things
are worthy of being loved,
and that sometimes the safest place to land
is in the arms of the person
who never stopped believing
you could heal.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 4:33 PM UTC
There are loves that arrive softly,
and then there are loves that arrive like light through cathedral glass—
too beautiful to look at directly,
too holy to touch with trembling hands.
You loved me like that.
Like I was something worth staying for
even when I could not stay for myself.
Like my storms were not warnings,
but weather you were willing to walk through beside me.
You held tenderness the way oceans hold moonlight—
effortlessly, endlessly, without asking for applause.
And I wish I could say
I knew how to carry something so sacred.
But the truth is,
I had hands trained by survival,
hands that knew how to brace for loss,
how to push away,
how to drop beautiful things before they could disappear on their own.
Your love felt enormous in my frightened palms.
Magic always does.
So when you poured devotion into me,
I sometimes answered with uncertainty,
with silence,
with the ache of someone still learning
that love is not a debt to repay
but a gift to receive.
Still—
I am learning.
Learning that I do not have to earn softness.
Learning that being loved deeply
does not mean I am moments away from abandonment.
Learning how to uncurl my fingers around affection
instead of watching it slip through them.
And slowly, carefully,
I am building new hands from the ruins of old fears.
Hands that reach back.
Hands that hold on.
Hands that can finally cradle the miracle
you have been offering me all along.
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 12:08 AM UTC
I know there were nights
when my mind became a house full of broken windows,
when voices crawled through the cracks
and convinced me the world was ending softly around me.
I know I became distant
a body beside you
with a soul trapped somewhere unreachable,
somewhere dark enough to mistake love for danger.
There were moments I looked at you
and could not separate truth from fear,
moments my own reflection felt like a stranger
wearing my face.
But you,
you stayed.
Not because it was easy.
Not because I made loving me beautiful all the time.
You stayed when my words stopped making sense,
when my thoughts shattered mid-sentence,
when paranoia wrapped itself around my ribs
and convinced me everyone would leave eventually.
You held my trembling hands
like they were still worthy of gentleness.
You learned the language of my storms
without asking me to apologize for the rain.
And maybe that is the closest thing to divine
I will ever witness
someone seeing me unravel thread by thread
and choosing, every single day,
to help stitch me back together.
There are people who love the sunlight in others.
You loved me through the eclipse.
Even when I was not myself,
you spoke to me like the real me
was still somewhere inside all the noise.
You waited for me
with a patience I still do not know how to deserve.
I think part of me will always grieve
for the weight my illness placed in your hands.
Because there were nights
you should have walked away to save yourself.
But instead, you sat beside me in the dark
until morning found us both.
And if my mind is a battlefield,
then you have been the quiet place
where I lay down my armor.
Not my savior.
Not my cure.
Just the person who loved me hard enough
to remind me I was still human
when I could no longer recognize myself.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 12:24 PM UTC
Where in the world do I even begin? She was knocking so gently so I let her in. I should've known she was trouble by her devilish grin, before I could mutter a word out she said "Hi, my name is Heroin"
Directly behind her, **** near attached to her hip, came in another doing a little skip. Unable to keep her balance she caught herself just as she had begun to slip, she chuckled lightly and said let me give you a tip.
"Many would undoubtedly agree, our path is marked with nothing but chaos and debris. If you were wise you would tell us to flea our darkness isn't something most want to see" then with a big smile she says "Most people call me Fetty"
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 5:16 PM UTC
Sit down and let me tell you about some sh¡t right quick. I wouldn't doubt you've seen me around covered in picks, lookin all pale like I'm worse than sick. Believe it or not, I wasn't always like this. It just so happened that this addiction hit me like a ton of bricks.
It's like as soon as I did my first line the drugs had already began to infest, and ever since then I've been nothing but depressed. Everyone always say to "reach out" its not good to keep it repressed, but just thinking of opening up has got me fu€k¡n stressed.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 5:15 PM UTC
I know nothing can depict the **** I've done to get my fix, there's a different story for each of us addicts. I'm sure this life isn't something any of us would've been able to predict, believe it or not but we were tricked.
We never would've imagined that the drugs had the power to ensnare, or have us living in complete despair. I doubt anything on this earth could've helped us prepare. This is a true story not many like to share.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 5:15 PM UTC
She built it carefully—
not with truth, but with something
that looked just enough like it.
A story polished at the edges,
details softened, shifted,
small omissions tucked between smiles
where no one thinks to look.
And he loved her.
Not the whole of her—
not the quiet fractures beneath her words,
but the version she handed him,
warm and unguarded,
untouched by the weight of what she hid.
At first, it felt like safety.
Like stepping into a life
where nothing could betray her
because nothing was entirely real.
But love has a way
of asking for more than appearances.
It leaned closer.
Asked questions she hadn’t prepared for.
Trusted her in ways
that made the lies feel louder
than anything she could say.
And shame—
slow, patient, merciless—
began to settle in her bones.
She started trying then.
Not to confess—
not yet—
but to become worthy
of the love she had already altered.
She gave more than she took,
held on tighter than she should,
studied him like something sacred
she didn’t deserve to touch.
Every kindness she offered
felt like a quiet apology.
Every honest moment
arrived too late.
Because the truth remained—
not spoken, but living there
between them,
like a crack in glass
only she could see spreading.
He still looked at her
like she was something rare.
Something whole.
And that was the worst of it.
Because she knew
how easily it could shatter—
not from his hands,
but from her own.
So she stayed,
loving him the only way she could now:
carefully, painfully,
with the constant understanding
that no matter how gentle she became,
she had already touched something pure
with something untrue—
and some things, once altered,
never return
to what they were
before.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 5:12 PM UTC
She learned early how to leave
before the leaving could begin—
how to spot the tremor in a promise,
the hairline crack in “always,”
the way forever never quite sits still.
So she made a ritual of endings.
She’d laugh too loud at tender moments,
turn soft words into something sharp,
like folding love into corners
until it no longer resembled
anything worth keeping.
If someone stayed too long,
she’d rearrange the room—
move kindness out of reach,
replace warmth with distance,
watch confusion bloom where comfort once lived.
It wasn’t cruelty, not exactly.
More like preservation—
like smashing a glass
before it could slip from her hands
and prove how fragile it was.
Because she knew how this went.
Love was a season
that forgot to warn you before it changed.
A door that closed
just as you learned the shape of its handle.
A voice that softened, then vanished.
So she never let it ripen.
Picked it green off the branch,
said, “See? It was never sweet.”
Ignored the way it might have been
if she had only waited
through the uncertainty of becoming.
They called her careless.
Said she didn’t understand
what she was given.
But they never saw her counting exits,
measuring silences,
bracing for the quiet
that always followed.
She didn’t ruin love
because she didn’t feel it.
She ruined it
because she did—
and she knew exactly
how much it would hurt
when it left her first.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 5:08 PM UTC
I knew how to leave
before I ever learned how to stay—
my heart raised on exit signs,
on doors half-open,
on the quiet art of disappearing.
and then there was you—
not loud, not demanding,
just… certain,
like light that doesn’t ask permission
to be believed.
loving you felt like stepping into still water
and realizing I wasn’t drowning—
just finally held.
but instinct is a stubborn ghost.
it tugged at my sleeves,
whispered run before you’re ruined,
drew maps back to loneliness
and called them safety.
so I became a battlefield—
half of me reaching for your hand,
the other already letting go,
a war between memory and miracle,
between what hurt me
and what could heal me.
you never pulled,
never chased the fleeing parts of me—
you just stayed,
steady as truth,
soft as something sacred
I didn’t yet know how to keep.
and that’s what undid me—
not force, not fire,
but your patience,
your quiet refusal
to make love feel like survival.
somewhere between my fear
and your unwavering presence,
I started choosing you—
not all at once,
but in trembling, stubborn pieces.
I chose to linger,
to trust the way your name
felt like peace in my mouth,
to believe that love
didn’t have to be chased or escaped—
it could simply be received.
and in that fragile surrender,
I understood something terrifying and true:
you were the one—
not because you completed me,
but because with you
I no longer felt the need to run.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 6:07 PM UTC
when you wrote I love you I knew you were the one, yet I was raised to run, but there was something in your smile that told me I was safe and could stay awhile
and your smile—
God, your smile—
like morning slipping gently through curtains,
like a secret the sun couldn’t keep.
I had known love as thunder,
as something loud and leaving,
as hands that held too tight
or not at all—
but you were a quiet kind of forever,
the kind that doesn’t announce itself,
only stays.
you looked at me
like I was not a question to solve
but a place to rest—
like my name belonged
in the softest part of your mouth.
and I,
all trembling instinct and halfway goodbyes,
found myself leaning closer
instead of away,
trading distance
for the warmth of your breath
braiding itself with mine.
you loved me gently—
not in grand gestures,
but in the way your fingers learned mine
like a language,
in the way your voice lowered
as if afraid to disturb
something sacred between us.
I began to bloom in your presence,
petal by careful petal,
unafraid of the light
because it came from you.
and somewhere between your laughter
and the quiet of your shoulder at night,
I forgot the map that led me away
and memorized instead
the way back to you.
so when you said I love you—
I didn’t hear a warning,
I heard a home—
and for the first time,
love did not feel like falling—
it felt like being chosen,
again and again,
in the softest ways,
until even my restless heart
learned your name
as its favorite place to stay.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:32 PM UTC