Your touch feels like stepping into my home after a too long vacation.
A steady feeling you bring to me, the stable being I never see.
And I hug you and I kiss you and I feel so many things at once. It is so scary you know?
To be loved by someone and love one so harsh.
Im used to things in my life come and go, but I’ve never needed this much for a feeling to hold on.
And as I hug you harder I can see the parts of me that were buried deep in seas,
And as you hug me tidier you remember the childish versions of you
You even forgot to exist.
And I think to myself that maybe the reason behind this calm and familiar feeling is because only with you I was a kid living.
Some years ago, when I met you, both still kids but we knew what we felt was an everlasting promising momentum;
And that’s why when I touch you I can feel my own past self coming back,
But also the little us smiling back at us.
Saying I told you so, when they knew they were falling in love.
You say not to worry but I do, I do, I do.
It is so hard not to hold on to something that is not you
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 8:13 AM UTC
I sit down in my bedroom and I think how I wish these walls would become your arms.
For the ceiling to be your beautiful fluffy hair and your heart to be our bed.
I have this continuous nostalgic feeling of wanting to go home. But as soon as I arrive in my apartment, the little me finds me in the kitchen, staring blankly while holding her comfort tiny blanket.
She asks me to take her home and although I know what she means I still ask her where does she leave.
And she answers me with feelings, she answers me with memories, because, she says, that’s where her heart belongs to, that’s where her real home is.
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 8:09 AM UTC
I lift my glance above my head and notice that the Moon is half,
but I am in fact unsure if it is waxing or waning.
And I start to think about if she looks like she gets more sunlight in this current phase that she is in
(when the Moon is waxing it gets more sunlight)
But I just can’t differentiate.
I can’t tell the difference of her increasing or decreasing,
because half empty looks the same as half full.
And as much as I want to believe that half empty is the same as half full (which in that case most of the problems in my life will be solved), it is not.
They are two different things that I myself have to recognise and consider carefully.
I look above my head again.
And I think, and I think,
and I think that’s how unsure I feel in my life.
And this is how I have to accept my fate and do nothing about it but wait.
Because only the next day I will be able to tell If I’m waning or waxing, if I’m evolving or shrinking.
And it scares me.
But all I have to do is wait.
I feel half empty-half full about my feelings, about my love, about myself, about my heart, my brain, my hands, my body. I feel so unsure about what I can hear and what I can see, but what I can touch is the only thing I can be truly familiar with, because surprisingly that’s what brings me peace; and I touch everything to understand if they are half full or half empty,
when I completely then forget who I am and what I was yearning for.
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 8:05 AM UTC
I always need more from myself. I tell myself to create more than I consume lately but to create takes energy. I am a perfectionist you see, if I create something I want it to be perfect. And now that I’ve been behind to my creativeness I am afraid to go on any further so I hide my lines and I burry my ideas deep inside my brain because I have seen the power the ink on paper holds. I’ve seen it myself. I am nostalgic of my own self when I go back and read what I used to write. It is funny now, how I made myself the consumer by creating too little of too much. Is this a circle I am going to follow for the rest of my life? What do I have to let go in order to give in the fact that I consume now and not create? Should I go back or just jump to the future. All I know is that I keep missing who I was and what I used to create. It is rather a compliment, to admire my own work, if of course that doesn’t already make me egocentric.
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 7:42 AM UTC
The winter is here. I feel like myself again.
I peel oranges and put cinnamon on my apples.
I look at how I’ve cut them all uneven and I love every single piece that comes from my hands.
My coffee is just as warm as I want it to be and love is just a light air on my shoulders,
Which I carry around but never as a weight.
In winter I find my self being so in love with the world.
The beauty of a naked tree and each pomegranate planting its seed.
I want to be a winter child,
Where the colds are never unfortunate and the snow is always immaculate.
I once wrote that if I was a tree I would be a deciduous,
Since a change this small as the changing of seasons makes me rip all my parts off and throw them down to the ground,
And yet in this way I feel more connected to the earth as ever,
As if my emotional being finally belongs somehow,
To something so important like the beautiful weather.
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 10:16 AM UTC
This summer is dropping off my fingertips like vanilla ice cream used to on a family trip ten years ago.
It is mid-July, every morning feels the same
I wake up from the sweat that is travelling along my spine,
These warm mornings have me feeling so nostalgic lately,
This lingering feeling is overcoming me steadily.
The sounds from my childhood, they awaken something strange in me. Something so familiar which yet feels so remote.
And then there is you.This ball of light like a hot sun in my sleepless nights,
When I couldn’t sleep, and I've had all my smokes,
When my bed stopped feeling like a sea I could drown all my problems in,
When my arms had forgotten how to hug, how to touch, how to feel.
With just your presence I can finally remember me.
Who I used to be when I first got my bangs, when my hair was still blonde like sunflowers in the sun,
When I was careless, running in the fields,
When nights like these didn’t exist,
When mid-July days were all playgrounds and vanilla ice creams,
When my mom called me beautiful and I could make my father proud.
Your presence reminded me who my real identity is.
Thank you for bringing back the girl which I for ages miss.
marie
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 10:14 AM UTC
I've always loved my solitude, being away from everything made me feel small like nothing I do ever matters
and I know that seems a bit depressing, but it is the truth;
Alas I know I am not the only one who feels this way.
I find a beauty in flowers, always have. And then I looked at you and saw all the flowers of the world inside the two small spheres of your eyes.
You helped me put down the wall - and I saw the eye of the cyclone. For the first time in my life I overcame the thunderstorms,
this severe weather I’ve been dealing with years before meeting you. It is rather weird the fact that the most calm and peaceful region of this battlefield is right in the heart of it, don’t you think?
I reached the eye of the cyclone
and the weather now seems clear.
The flowers are everywhere,
everything is now here.
I am finally drown in your eyes like I always wanted;
Everything seems so slow and simple,
lying down I put my fingers to my neck
and I can feel you knocking from my insides,
slowly but steadily,
ready to accompany me,
and since I’ve already destroyed my solitude,
I allow it mindlessly.
And as I go further, the slower I move.
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 10:07 AM UTC
I hugged you to bring you closer for one more last time, when I heard your whispers saying you’re sorry, you’re sorry and I ask you why.
All confused with my lips on your cheeks and my fingers through your hair I say that I simply love you and you apologise thinking you’re not fair.
Your guilt makes me then feel hurt, as I didn’t realise my hands are empty until I saw yours were full.
I can’t decide if you’re sorry because you are not sharing with me or because with my empty hands you feel relief.
I don’t care and I hug you tidier, I wish I never heard you whisper so I just try to ignore you, when you intrude my thoughts once again:
“I hope for everything to be better”, as a wish from you for me to get better, for us to get better, for the wind to finally blow my way and for the trees to grow and sway.
For everything to just be, like they do in your way.
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 10:00 AM UTC
When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.” -Richard Kadrey.
And when I looked down at my hands all I could see was my family’s blood:
My fathers anger, my mothers unsolved love, my sisters hope and my brothers wrongs.
The careless of the little one and the consciousness of the oldest.
I think the reason why I could always only see my house from afar is because Ive never actually lived in it.
I could see my pain and the things I went through from outside the window, just as little as the lamp light let me see through,
And that’s one of the reasons I keep forgetting and forgiving.
But lately the memories have been coming back…
well, not really the memories, but the rights and the wrongs that my parents have done to me.
And I try to use my hands to stand up and get off the ground,
but they are so slippery, so slippery.
Until now, I didn’t realise how much blood I was carrying around,
how many people died in that house.
A house, a house, a house
One house, one house, one house.
Only a house with a roof and some walls.
Trying all life to find a house I can call home.
But I couldn’t even get up, and if I got up
How would I clean all this red mess up?
Feeling the most disgusting creature on earth,
I was thinking I might as well sell them my own self;
When I felt something so familiar touching me,
I tried showing them but all they could see,
Was a wet hand-an innocent-wet-big hand holding mine.
And I kept begging them to see that
Both our hands, me and his
Were wet for once, but not at all clean,
Both our hands were bleeding hunger,
Though at last, they were holding each other.
Aug 16, 2023
Aug 16, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
I definitely have a drinking problem, I’m thinking,
As I pour myself another wine glass and also press the next episode button for
The next chapter to start.
I’ve always been rational.
I don’t have patience, and I hate this about myself, I want to rush into things, and this makes me get hurt every-time I do it all over and over again.I think I’m repeating my own bad habits in order to gain some sense of how a strong feeling feels, and if I don’t, that’s what makes me keep going and doing the same-not sane-decisions, falling into the circle of my own accomplished ambitions.
I then desperately self destruct
And if I am the same as before,
Raising my glass as a form of sway;
I finally have one thing to say.
“As the red wine will never get white,
My thoughts will never not be mine.”
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 11:27 AM UTC