At my lowest,
I sit in silence
and bleed nothing but truth.

I peel pain open
like fruit with no skin
bitter, soft,
so achingly sweet.

I trace every crack in my chest
like ancient runes,
looking for the shape of love
in the wreckage.

And when I find it
trembling, ugly, beautiful
I see myself.

To feel this much
is a kind of holiness.
To ache for something
is to prove it mattered.
To shatter for love
is to live.

Even if life is chaos,
I still choose.
I still want.

And maybe that’s enough
to want so deeply
that the wanting alone
makes me real.

Let the day be light.
Then let it be real.
And let yourself be proud
not of the outcome
but of the truth you chose to share.

Not proud of winning, not of acclaim,
but that you spoke your truth, without shame.
That you let words rise when fear said “hide,
and didn’t let silence steal what’s inside.

Some strength is quiet, soft and bare—
a whisper of honesty hung in the air.
No need for answers, no need for return,
just the soft glow of a heart that burns.

So if the moment feels unsure,
if the path ahead is still obscure,
know this much: you stood your ground,
let your voice make its honest sound.

So let the day be light.
Then let it be real.
And let yourself be proud
not of the outcome
but of the truth you chose to feel.

It’s not just about being liked.
It’s not just about being treated kindly.
It’s about the haunting silence that says:

“Even if I’m here, I don’t know if it matters.”
“Even if they love me, I don’t know if I can let it in.”
“Even when someone shows me care I feel like a burden for receiving it.”
“I feel like I should leave before they realize I don’t belong.”



And that… that is what happens to people who were never loved in a way that felt safe. It’s not that no one ever cared. It’s that you were never given permission to trust that care. And so you built this quiet survival rule inside yourself:

“Don’t expect love to stay. Don’t lean too ******* being wanted. Just be good, be funny, be useful and maybe that’ll be enough.”



But it’s never enough, is it?

Because all you really wanted maybe all you still want—is to feel like your presence means something. Not because you earned it. But because you are you.

In the echoes of longing, I find my voice,
A symphony of sorrow, aching with no choice.
Each day a battle, with memories so near,
Your absence a wound, too painful to bear.

You were my sunshine, in a world so dark,
With you, I found purpose, a flame, a spark.
But now you're gone, leaving emptiness behind,
A void in my soul, impossible to find.

I dream of your smile, your laughter, your grace,
Yet reality's cruel, keeping us in separate space.
I yearn for your touch, your warmth, your love,
But it seems fate has decided, from high above.

So I'll linger in shadows, haunted by your ghost,
Hoping against hope for what I miss the most.
But until then, I'll carry on, broken and true,
For in my heart, forever, I'll love you.

I have a thousand reasons to love you,
But if you ask me why, I’ll still say I don’t know.
There’s something magical in the way you move,
Every word you speak, my heart you soothe.

Just being near you feels like heaven’s grace,
When I’m apart, your love I chase—
My mind spins visions, scenarios so sweet,
Living a life where our hearts meet.
I don’t know why it’s you, but there’s no one else,
Who can claim my heart, my thoughts so deep.

Your beauty shines like morning light,
Your voice, a melody that feels so right.
The way you move, a dance so pure,
Filling my soul with life’s allure.
My heart yearns for you, every day,
And warmth I feel when you’re near to stay.

I want to be yours, and only yours,
For you alone, my love endures.
I’d give all to have your heart,
For in your love, I’d never part.
I thought the moon and stars were bright,
Until I saw you, and found new light.
Your kindness, sweetness, makes me kneel,
A sinner’s heart, now made to heal.

To ask for you, is like asking for grace,
A gift too great, too pure to embrace.
Oh, sweet Angel, the devil weeps,
Regretful of the day he left heaven’s keeps.

For he never knew, there would be one,
So divine, so bright, under the sun.
And in your love, I find my wings—
A love eternal, where my spirit sings.

White Sheet

Each day grows harder to bear,
though I still have fight in me—
it flickers,
like a candle shrinking in wind.

I wake with heaviness,
and sleep with silence.
And every hour,
some small part of me
gets quietly erased.

I feel it.
Tiny things vanishing—
hope,
desire,
love—
like words smudged off a page
no one ever finished reading.

Soon,
I fear,
I'll be nothing but
an empty white canvas.
Not fresh.
Just forgotten.

A lonely sheet of paper,
left on a quiet desk,
weeping in silence
because no one ever wrote their name
across its heart.
No one ever cared to read the lines
that once tried to form.

And maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—
not being alone,
but being unread.
Unnoticed.
Undone.
Slowly fading
until there's nothing left
but the silence
of a story
never told.

And when I'm gone,
they’ll only see
the blankness—
never knowing
how much was written there
before it faded.

A white sheet.
Still.
Silent.
Crying for someone
to see it
before it's gone.