i don’t know how much
i relate to fortnight
until i am three drinks in
and your name
is the only word
i know
i was functioning
they said
she is fine
she is coping
what they didn’t see
was that the bottle
was the only thing
standing between me
and the truth of you
you were the reason
no one is here to blame
but your quiet treason
cut so much deeper
than anything loud
ever did
when she said
your wife bought us flowers
i felt something
i have no clean word for
because flowers mean forever
and forever
was supposed to be
a thing we whispered
to each other
one day you will belong
to a name that is not mine
and i will just be
the girl you used to reach for
in the dark
endless february
that is what you are
cold
and long
and somehow
i keep waking up in it
the pills made me feel
something close to okay
but okay
wore off
and you
never did
i loved you
past the point of sense
past the point of good for me
past the point
of no return
i still do
and it is the most
honest
devastating
thing
i have ever admitted
we feel each other
across every room
every mile
every silence
and still
you are so far from me
not in distance
but in the place
where it matters most
i am still here
still yours
in all the ways
that don’t count
and it is ruining me
beautifully
completely
and i let it
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 12:58 AM UTC
she has a streak with him
i have a maybe
a sometimes
a he didn’t log in today
she gets the instant reply
i watch my tiktok sit there
delivered
unopened
like a letter
he decided not to read
she is on his main
name sitting pretty
in the light
where everyone can see
i am on the burner
the account he forgets to open
the girl he tucks away
like spare change
like something he might need later
but doesn’t want to carry around
and i know what you will say
i don’t log in
it’s not like that
you know how i feel
but if you loved me
really loved me
wouldn’t you log in
wouldn’t you cross
that small distance
for me
she has his streak
she has his snap
she has her name
sitting visible in your tiktok messages
mine
is not there
and yet
you are all over me
when i am with you
you feed me
you hold me
you get me food like
you are trying to fill something
you know you are emptying
you caress my skin
like i am something precious
but precious things
don’t get hidden
you shower me in love
behind closed doors
and i drink it up
because god
it feels so real
but then i go home
and i open my phone
and there she is
streak still going
replies still instant
name still visible
and i am back
on the burner
i look her up sometimes
i shouldn’t
but i do
i study her hair
wonder if it’s softer
wonder if it falls better
i look at my reflection
and i start subtracting
maybe if this was different
maybe if i looked less like me
and i hate him a little
for making me do that
i hate myself more
for continuing
he kissed her
after us
or during
or around the edges of us
and i was supposed to be okay
because we were broken up
technically
but the heart doesn’t care
about technicalities
here is what i know
he loves me when i’m in front of him
and forgets me when i’m not
and i keep accepting
a love that only exists
in the same room as me
a love with no signal
no streak
no trace
a love kept
on a burner account
that he doesn’t log into
i deserve to be someone’s main
i deserve the instant reply
i deserve the streak
i deserve a name
that isn’t hidden
even if part of me
is still waiting
by the door
for him to log in
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 11:54 AM UTC
waiting for someone
only looks good
in the movies
in reality
you are just
a person
standing still
while the world
moves
yearning for someone
only looks good
in the books
in reality
it is just
a hunger
the kind
that never
gets full
loving someone
is only pleasant
in theory
in reality
it is all
pain
not the kind
that bruises your heart
the kind
that unalives it
and you
you live the rest of your life
lifelessly
breathing
but not alive
existing
but not living
your heart
will never live again
once you have loved
that way
the kind
that never
came
to fruition
the kind that took everything
and left
without
arriving
they romanticise all of it
the waiting
the yearning
the loving
but
nobody writes about what's left after
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 6:07 PM UTC
i don't just live
in the past
i am
becoming it
my hands
look like
september 2023
my eyes
hold the colour
of a goodbye
i never received
properly
my body
has memorised
the weight
of a love
that ended
through someone else's mouth
i am not
just rooted
in the past
i am
slowly
becoming it
the way wood
becomes the ground
it fell on
quietly
completely
without anyone
noticing
our memories
live in my bones
not in my mind
anymore
i don't think them
i am them
the roots
didn't just
anchor me here
they replaced me
with the past
piece
by
piece
i wonder
if i have
any parts left
that are not
made of
you
of us
of september
of a sixteen year old girl
waiting for an ending
that came
secondhand
maybe this
is what happens
when love
gets no closure
it doesn't move on
it fossilises
inside you
and you
become the artifact
of something
that never got
to finish
i am the past now
i am the memory
i am the portrait
with the empty space
beside me
you are supposed
to be there
standing next to me
in this portrait
we were meant
to share
but it is me
who stayed
me who is left
unmoved
you
are not gone
you are just
not here yet
still somewhere
between leaving
and returning
never fully
either
and still
i do not move
i remain
exactly where
you left me
as if moving
would mean
you'd come back
and not find me
where you left me
as if staying
is the only way
to keep
the portrait
from becoming
just mine
i am the roots
and the soil
and the september
and the silence
where your explanation
should have been
and somewhere
you are
neither here
nor there
still suspended
between us
and nothing
and here i am
becoming the past
becoming less of now
more of then
more of us
more of that love
more of that girl
who deserved better
and gave everything
and still
did not move
still
left
unmoved
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 4:15 PM UTC
It starts quietly
not with meaning,
but with a brush dipped
into something unnamed.
A yellow
not just yellow,
but the kind that hums like late afternoon sunlight
resting on your skin
as if time has decided to pause there
just for you.
A blue follows,
deep enough to hold a memory
of oceans you’ve never seen,
yet somehow miss.
It stretches,
And it breathes,
it becomes distance,
longing
the space between what was
and what could have been.
Green arrives like forgiveness.
it is Soft,
It is patient,
And it is alive.
It grows in places you thought
had turned to stone
in forests,
in veins,
in the quiet resilience of becoming again.
And then there is red
it is reckless,
It is unafraid.
It stains the canvas like a heartbeat,
like something that refuses to be ignored.
Love and anger and hunger
all of it spills the same way,
because feeling does not ask permission.
Somewhere in between,
colours begin to blur into each other
like memories do.
Edges soften,
moments dissolve,
and suddenly you are not just looking
you are there.
A portrait becomes a person,
their eyes holding stories
you almost recognise.
A landscape becomes a place
you swear you’ve stood before,
even if only in a dream
you forgot to remember.
Because colour is not just seen
it is felt.
It carries time in its layers,
emotion in its shadows,
and entire worlds
in the smallest stroke.
And maybe that’s all we are
collections of colour,
brushed into existence,
trying to make sense
of the canvas we were given.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 3:35 PM UTC
We’re eighteen now,
grown on paper,
legal words and louder expectations,
but when I close my eyes
I still see you at sixteen.
Sixteen and fearless.
Sixteen and certain.
You loved me like the world hadn’t taught you
how to hesitate yet.
Your hands didn’t shake with doubt,
your words didn’t carry warnings.
You didn’t love me carefully
you loved me completely,
like there was no future that could ruin us.
Now we’re older,
and everything has edges.
Time taught us how to pull back,
how to measure feelings,
how to pretend we don’t feel things
as deeply as we do.
But my heart never learned that lesson.
It still reaches for the boy
who chose me without fear,
who loved me before love learned
how to hurt.
We may be eighteen now,
but somewhere inside me,
you are still sixteen
and I am still being loved
like nothing could ever go wrong.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 3:25 PM UTC
I’m sick in the heart,
not in a poetic way
in the way your throat tightens
for no clear reason,
in the way you stare at nothing
and feel too much.
I want to cry till I’m empty,
until my body gives up
on holding everything together,
until there’s nothing left to spill
but breath.
It hurts in places
I can’t point to.
It’s not one memory,
not one person
it’s the weight of all of it
stacked quietly inside me.
I keep going like I’m fine,
like this heaviness isn’t real,
like my heart isn’t tired
of being brave for so long.
I don’t want fixing.
I don’t want advice.
I just want to fall apart safely,
to let the tears do their job,
to leave me empty enough
to rest.
Because right now,
empty sounds like peace.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 1:44 PM UTC
First love hits like a storm
no warning
just the crash.
It leaves you speechless,
lifeless,
numb in the quiet after
where every heartbeat
feels borrowed
and every memory
feels louder than you.
You learn to live around the ache,
patch the places it hollowed out,
teach yourself to breathe again
without tasting their name
on every inhale.
Two years pass.
You think you’ve patched up every hallowed part
That you’ve healed enough,
Rebuilt your heart
with
sturdier walls.
And then
a follow pops up,
a message
and there it is.
The echo.
The spark you swore
was long extinguished.
It comes back
Like a whisper against your ribs,
then a flood.
Not the same as before
but still enough
to stop time for a beat
and remind you
some people never leave.
They just wait
in the spaces you outgrew,
until one day
you look back
and find them
standing in the doorway
of your own heart.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 5:34 PM UTC
Loving you is draining sometimes,
yet even the thought of you
fills my whole heart back up again
I know I’ve caused you pain
I saw it in the way your smile trembled
but your lips, sweet like honey,
feel like they were made
to heal every wound we ever opened
You watched the way I hurt you,
you didn’t look away,
and still your eyes stayed full of love for me,
like they never learned how to hold anything else
Your body is a map I memorised long ago,
a place I could navigate in the dark,
and every time,
you let me in
Every time,
you reached out first
And it was always because you loved me more
than you ever said out loud
You wonder what you ever did
to leave such an imprint on me,
but it was simple
it was you
You, who loved me like you meant it.
You, who understood me without translations.
You, who looked at me
and knew exactly what lived behind my silence
You knew
You knew
because you loved me
The kind of love that only happens once
I waited for you
three years of waiting
but you were the one
who broke no contact every single time,
who checked in on me
even when we weren’t supposed to speak,
who couldn’t help reaching back
because your love never really left
And that’s why mine never did either
Nov 15, 2025
Nov 15, 2025 at 7:16 PM UTC
Everything I know about love
begins and ends with him
It’s in the way my heart beats faster
when his name drifts across my thoughts,
and how the world softens
at the memory of his smile
Love is him
the quiet in the chaos,
the warmth in cold rooms,
the kind of pull that bends time
so moments with him
stretch into forever
Love doesn’t exist outside his skin,
outside his voice,
outside the way my world tilts
when he’s near
I’ve learned that love is patient,
but also wild,
gentle, yet impossible to tame,
all because he exists
Every lesson, every heartbreak,
every poem I’ve ever tried to write
they converge into one truth:
he is love
And if I ever forget,
my heart whispers,
reminding me gently,
he is love
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 1:37 PM UTC