Grief is like glitter
at first,
it is everywhere.
Clinging to your skin,
woven into your hair,
settling into every corner
of a life that used to feel whole.
You try to wipe it away,
scrub until your hands ache,
rearrange the room
as if order could undo loss.
And for a moment,
you almost believe
you’ve cleaned it all.
But grief is patient.
It waits behind furniture,
in forgotten drawers,
in the quiet places
you don’t think to look.
Until one day
a shift,
a memory,
a single spark
catches the light.
And there it is again.
Not as loud,
not as sharp
but present.
You learn
not to fight it anymore.
You let it stay,
soft and scattered,
a reminder
of something that once shined
so brightly
it left pieces behind.
And years pass.
And one day,
you find a trace of it
in a song,
a scent,
a photograph worn at the edges
and instead of breaking,
you pause.
Because it doesn’t hurt
the same way anymore.
It glows.
Quietly.
Gently.
Like love
that never left
just changed
the way it stays.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 7:20 AM UTC
They hand me a future
like a form to fill in
boxes, deadlines, directions
I’m supposed to choose
before I even know myself.
High school halls echo with plans:
“I’ll be this,”
“I’ll study that,”
their lives mapped out
like straight roads.
And I stand there
no map,
no destination,
just a feeling
that I’m already behind.
They say,
your choices now
decide everything later.
But I’m still learning
how to exist now.
I don’t want to rush
into a life I haven’t felt yet.
I want late nights,
careless laughter,
mistakes that don’t define me forever.
I want to be young
without it costing me
my entire future.
But time doesn’t wait,
and neither do expectations.
So I sit in the middle
between freedom and pressure,
between who I am
and who I’m told to become
wondering
why life asks for answers
from someone
still figuring out
the question.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 11:41 AM UTC
Life asks you to look
in more than one direction.
Look forward,
so you don’t crash into tomorrow
eyes on the road of choices,
studies,
dreams that haven’t happened yet.
Look back,
not to stay there,
but to remember the small hands
you once had,
the places that shaped
the person walking now.
Look to the side,
because no road is meant
to be walked alone.
That’s where the laughter is,
the friends keeping pace
through the long miles.
And sometimes,
look u up to the quiet sky
where the ones you loved
no longer walk beside you,
but somehow
still feel close.
Four directions,
four reminders
Where you’re going.
Where you came from.
Who walks with you.
And who watches
from above.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 8:51 AM UTC
One apple fell,
and the world opened its eyes
gravity explained,
the universe suddenly behaving
in a way we could name.
But millions of bodies fell,
folded into dirt and smoke
by hands just as human as theirs,
and somehow
we learned nothing.
No formula for kindness,
no law for mercy,
no theory to stop a bullet
before it shreds a future.
We memorized how planets move,
but not how people break.
We study the force that pulls us down,
but not the one
that drives us to destroy
our own reflection.
One apple taught us why things fall.
Millions of bodies still rise in our nightmares
asking why we do.
And maybe the real tragedy
is that
gravity was easy.
Humanity
we still don’t understand.
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 9:17 AM UTC
We built gods out of paper,
and called them money.
Thin, fragile things
yet somehow, they hold more power
than any heart ever did.
We trade hours for numbers,
dreams for decimals,
and call it success.
We burn the earth
to build the illusion of worth,
and tell ourselves
it’s smart economics.
But it’s not smart
it’s survival dressed in greed,
a system that feeds on need.
We invented value,
then forgot it wasn’t real.
A promise backed by nothing,
except the fear of having none.
People say it makes the world go round
but really, it makes it spin
out of control.
Families fracture,
friendships fade,
nations rot
over invisible lines
and digital balances.
And I can’t help but wonder
what would happen
if we remembered
how to measure wealth
in something else?
Laughter.
Time.
Peace.
There has to be something better.
Because if money’s the heartbeat of humanity,
then maybe that’s why
we’re all
so sick.
Oct 27, 2025
Oct 27, 2025 at 12:27 PM UTC
Somewhere on this spinning world,
you are alive.
Breathing the same air,
walking streets I’ve never seen,
touching things I’ll never touch
and you don’t even know
that I’m looking for you.
Maybe we’ve already passed each other once,
two souls brushing shoulders
in a crowd too busy to notice.
Maybe I caught your eye for a second
and mistook the ache in my chest
for déjà vu.
They call it the soulmate myth,
but I think it’s more like gravity
quiet, constant, patient.
Pulling.
And if not this lifetime,
then maybe the last.
Maybe we were something before
lovers, friends,
two stars circling the same sky.
And maybe this time,
we’re just trying to find our way back.
The strangest part?
You could be anywhere.
Reading this, maybe.
Or sleeping.
Or laughing right now
without knowing
why the world suddenly feels softer.
I don’t know your face,
but I think my soul would recognize
the sound of your silence.
And I believe,
with every quiet heartbeat,
that someday
you’ll turn around,
and I’ll finally feel
what home was meant to mean.
Oct 27, 2025
Oct 27, 2025 at 12:13 PM UTC
I want to fall in love. But only halfway.
Just enough to feel the butterflies,
Not enough to feel them die.
I crave connection,
But flinch at commitment.
The idea of being known feels warm and terrifying at once.
I like someone,
Then the moment they like me back,
Its like a switch flips.
Panic sets in,
Walls rise,
And I dissapear into my own fear.
I crave connection,
Late- night talks,
Inside jokes,
The kind of love you see in movies.
But the second it’s real,
I panic.
I shut down.
I disappear.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I love the idea of being loved more than love itself.
Maybe I’m scared of being seen.
Really seen and not liked after.
Maybe I’m not ready,
Maybe I’m scared.
I want to taste teenage love,
But not swallow its ache.
I want someone’s hand,
But not their heart.
I keep thinking I’ll ruin it,
Get bored,
Lose the spark,
Disappoint them.
I don’t know what I want.
I just know
I went to feel something
Without it having to mean something.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 3:57 PM UTC
They say a red string binds us,
Invisible,
Unbreakable,
Tied around our fingers long before we were born.
It stretched across oceans,
Through cities we’ll never see,
Through years that feel endless but never snaps.
We pass strangers on sidewalks,
Not knowing how many strings brush against our own,
Not knowing if the tug we feel in our chest is destiny pulling us closer.
The red string is patient.
It knots and tangles,
It drags us through heartbreak and detours,
But it always remembers the way home.
And when our eyes finally meet,
We’ll feel it that quiet recognition,
As if we’ve been carrying each others invisible all along.
Because fate is not always loud.
Sometimes it’s just a thread,
Soft and unseen,
Tying two souls
Who were never meant
To be apart.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 9:18 AM UTC
The devil couldn’t reach me,
so he whispered through the cracks
of people I loved.
He wore their faces,
borrowed their voices,
and spoke in tones
I couldn’t ignore.
The devil couldn’t reach me,
so he placed battles in my mind,
made me question my worth,
turned silence into knives,
turned mirrors into enemies.
The devil couldn’t reach me,
so he sat patiently,
knowing I’d carve my own wounds,
knowing I’d fight myself harder
than he ever could.
evil doesn’t always arrive
with fire and horns.
Sometimes it arrives
as the shadow of your own thoughts,
and smiles
because you never notice
you’re the one holding the blade.
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 4:02 PM UTC
The world is full of places that once held voiced,
Now only dust.
Windows stare empty,
Glass long shattered,
Yet you can almost hear the echo of laughter,
The hum of a life that used to exist there.
Chairs still wait at tables for meals never served.
Curtains hang like ghosts.
Breathing with the wind.
Paint peels like forgotten skin,
Walls hold secrets they will never tell.
Abandoned places are not empty.
They are heavy weighted with memories,
With footsteps that linger,
With stories cut short.
We call them ruins,
But they are more like mirrors
reminding us that nothing we built
lasts forever.
And everything we leave behind
becomes a monument
to how quickly we vanish.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 11:47 AM UTC