They said it gently:
“Have children,
so someone will care for you
when you’re old.”
It sounded like love.
It wasn’t.
It was fear
wearing a soft voice.
And so a child is born,
not just into a family,
but into expectation.
A life already decided:
" You will repay this."
In some homes,
Love is heavy.
Success is shared.
Dreams are delayed.
And one child
becomes everything,
provider,
solution,
sacrifice.
Pulled by unseen hands
that call themselves
family.
And if they resist?
They are not tired,
they are ungrateful.
So they stay.
They give.
Until nothing feels like theirs anymore.
And still,
They call it love.
But love is not a debt.
It does not keep score.
It does not demand return.
Children are not investments.
They are human.
And maybe the truth is this:
We were never meant
to raise them
to carry us,
only to let them live.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:33 AM UTC
can we change someone
or is that just a beautiful lie
we tell ourselves
to make staying easier?
we are made like different skies,
even twins carry different storms.
two minds don't merge
they collide,
they resist.
they say love can change a person.
no...
love is not a sculptor.
it cannot carve new souls
out of stubborn stone.
"i'll change for you", they say,
soft as a promise,
fragile as smoke
there,
then gone.
people don't change
because they are asked to.
they change
when something inside them breaks
or when they lose
what they never thought they would.
and even then,
nothing is certain.
so no,
we cannot change someone.
we can only stand at the edge,
watching
as they either become
someone new,
or remain
a storm
we were never meant to calm
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 12:34 AM UTC
Maybe it’s not failure we fear,
but the eyes that might witness it.
The quiet shift in how we’re seen,
the unspoken judgment
We imagine in their silence.
Failing alone feels different—
soft, almost forgivable.
But in front of others,
It echoes.
So we hold back,
not because we can’t,
But because we don’t want to be seen
trying
and falling short.
Maybe we were never afraid to fail—
only afraid
Someone might notice.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 2:42 AM UTC
Night Weaves cold threads over my shoulders,
The wind wanders like a letter with no address.
Something dim flickers in my chest,
a small candle
that forgot how to burn.
The sky hangs in a quiet suspension,
a lake without ripples,
Yet beneath it
feelings fall one by one
like leaves that never said goodbye.
Slowly,
something eats away the space inside me -
not a storm,
but a patient drizzle
carving holes into stone.
I do not collapse all at once,
I fracture quietly,
like glass holding its breath
behind its clarity.
And silence,
is not absence -
It is an ocean without a boat,
where feelings swim
without arriving
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 1:40 AM UTC
Between the hush of the night and the shimmer of moonlight, only my longing for you keeps screaming, trying to break a silence even the wind cannot touch
On the way we chose to end, I knew the universe turned us into two distant stars, strangers again, separated by a distance time could never bridge.
The memories we carved with trembling, happy hands now feel like patterns drawn on sand washed away by waves without a trace.
Your eyes... I still ache for their light. Once warm like a tireless sun, now only a faint glow I keep in the corner of my memory so it won't disappear into the dark.
Can we truly forget the laughter that once echoed along the shore? The late-night jokes, the words that made time jealous because it was never enough
The photograph we took with whole hearts has become lifeless paper, though it once carried my entire world.
Now I am learning that some losses are not meant to be understood - only felt.
Some loves are meant to visit, not stay.
Letting you go does not mean I stopped loving you - only that I stopped asking the universe to bring you back.
So tonight, beneath the same moon that once watched us laugh, I lay your name down gently...
not to forget,
But so my longing has somewhere to rest - without hurting me again.
Because love does not always disappear.
Sometimes it remains as an echo - quiet, distant,
yet never truly gone.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 7:29 AM UTC