The year I chose to live,  
because on that one day, I didn’t die.  
My breath lingered, though I wished it would halt,  
and my heart kept beating,  
even as it shattered into shards too sharp to hold.  

I learned the weight of living  
when you no longer wish to carry it.  
When each step feels heavier than the last,  
and your place in this world  
is a question you’re too tired to answer.  
But I also discovered  
the fragile beauty of life –  
how sacred each breath becomes  
when it burns against the walls of your chest.  

Since the day I didn’t leave,  
I have loved life fiercely,  
with a hunger I never knew I had.  

I walked through a love  
that strangled me like a noose,  
a love that erased and froze me,  
that burned without offering warmth,  
that stole my air and left me gasping.  
A love so beautiful,  
it broke me.  
A love so painful,  
it almost ended me.  

I tried to breathe.  
I tried to live.  
But loneliness was a sea of shadows,  
wrapping itself around my ankles,  
pulling me into a quiet that screamed.  

I couldn’t bear it.  
My mind whispered, "You won’t last."  
Ten minutes alone stretched into an eternity,  
a silence that devoured me whole.  

And yet, I rose –  
gathering the fragments of myself,  
though their edges tore my hands.  
In the ashes, I searched for beauty,  
and found glimmers of light.  

No matter who hurt me.  
No matter whose hands left bruises on my soul.  
I fought.  
I survived.  

In shadows and ruins,  
I searched for the pieces of myself.  
I found fragments hidden like relics –  
pieces I had forgotten,  
or never knew existed.  

I chased the light,  
a fragile butterfly fleeing the claws of shadows.  
In the quiet of empty places,  
I stood face-to-face with myself.  
And that was the hardest thing of all.  

I sought solace in abandoned places –  
crumbling walls and shattered windows,  
a mirror to the desolation inside me.  
And yet,  
I felt at home there.  

I tried everything:  
a job, a dream,  
a van to carry me far from here.  
Freedom felt like a whisper  
I could never catch.  

I poured my last strength  
into painting Easter eggs,  
letting a child’s laughter echo through the silence.  
For her,  
I stood strong,  
even as I shattered inside.  

I wanted to love,  
but in my giving,  
I lost myself.  

I left flowers by the roadside,  
small offerings to a world  
I was trying to believe in.  
Even as my heart bled,  
even as hope flickered faintly.  

I stretched for the sun,  
but found only faint stars –  
cold and distant,  
yet they whispered:  
“In the depths of darkness,  
light survives.”  

Step by trembling step,  
I walked the ruins of my past,  
where shadows of my younger self  
lay buried beneath the rubble of time.  
Each shard I lifted  
felt like a whisper:  
"Keep going. I am still here."  

And then it came –  
a shot through the fragile shell of my heart,  
shattering the silence within me,  
echoing through the hollow caverns of my soul.  

I needed help –  
not just to breathe,  
but to find the fragments of myself  
that the darkness had stolen.  

And so my healing began,  
trembling hands gripping a glass of water,  
while words etched in black and white  
tried to stitch me back together.  

There was structure,  
there was a plan:  
words, faces,  
people who carried the same weight I did.  
Slowly, I learned:  
I am enough.  
Slowly, I began to believe  
that broken things can be made whole.  

For the first time, sweetness touched my tongue –  
ice melting into rivers of warmth,  
flowing through the frozen landscapes of my soul.  
For the first time, colors returned to my mind.  
I gathered my broken pieces,  
and in the mirror,  
my eyes held life again.  

My wounds faded to scars.  
I wanted to live.  
I began carving hope into the walls of my mind –  
each word a quiet rebellion,  
each line a flicker of light  
breaking through the shadows.  
Slowly, belief returned,  
like a hesitant sunrise after the longest night.  

And then I smiled –  
a real smile,  
one that reached my eyes.  

There were still shadows,  
still losses that burned.  
But I was no longer powerless.  

I found someone,  
someone who held my heart  
when it was ready to break.  
With her, I laughed in defiance of sorrow.  
With her, I aimed at my demons,  
watched them crumble into dust.  

I began to see love  
in places I had never looked.  
Even in a withered leaf,  
its tattered edges shaped like a heart.  

Now, when I walk,  
my thoughts drift lighter,  
carried by the light.  

I write of my pain.  
I sing of my sorrow.  
So others may know:  
You are not alone.  

This year,  
I searched for myself.  
And I found pieces I never thought I would.  

I stayed,  
because my heart still beats.  
And as long as it beats,  
I will rise.  
I will stay.  
For I am not only strong –  
I am the unbroken,  
the unyielding.  
I am the light that refuses to dim.

I walk through streets I know too well,
toward work, toward class, toward the corner store.
The streets swell with bodies,
yet each step echoes hollow.
I am surrounded,
yet invisible –
a shadow in a sea of faces.
I see the same people, day after day –
at work, in class, in the aisles of the store.
Eyes that whisper softly,
"I can’t.
I can’t go on."
Brown, green, blue –
a kaleidoscope of color,
but when I look deeper,
I see the emptiness,
a void they try to hide.
And yet, beneath the emptiness lies life.
Fragments of truth glimmer –
a whisper of color,
the shadow of a wound,
the faint echo of a heart still beating.
Faces blur into sameness,
contours erased by powders and paints,
bronzer sculpting cheekbones,
lips drawn into perfect, silent shapes.
Each mask a fortress,
polished to protect the fragile soul
hidden beneath.
Oops.
I bump into the woman at the candy stall,
buying sweets to steady my nerves.
She looks just like the lady
who held the door for me 350 kilometers away.
Why does everyone wear the same mask now,
painted in shades of sameness,
hiding the vibrant chaos beneath?
We were all stars once,
radiant constellations,
but now we trade our light for artificial gleam,
buying beauty, sculpting bodies,
fleeing authenticity
as if it were a flame too bright to bear.
Tell me – when did we begin
to fear our own reflection?
When did the truth of who we are
become something to conceal?
Let your mask crumble.
Let it fall like autumn leaves,
revealing the branches of who you are.
Have you ever wondered –
if you showed the world
the raw, unpolished beauty of your scars,
would the world not offer you its own?

I hope that, when you forget everything,
the years settle softly on your skin,
like the quiet fall of autumn leaves,
like whispers of time that cradle you in their arms.
I hope you find peace in the stillness,
where the summer wind brushes against your face,
its touch an echo of the days we held dear—
days that felt eternal,
woven with warmth and light.
I hope the sea’s salt-kissed breeze
finds you again,
its touch a fleeting memory
of endless horizons
and laughter rising into the sky.
And when the silence wraps itself around you,
may the waves of our youth rise softly,
carrying whispers of everything we were,
of everything we loved.
I hope the scent of vanilla carries you
to the quiet corners of our laughter,
where time stood still,
and the world outside seemed
as distant as the stars.
Even if the melodies fade,
may the songs that once bound us together
linger in your soul—
not as fading echoes,
but as eternal whispers of a love
too deep to forget.
Even if your steps grow slower,
even if the years weigh heavy on your shoulders,
I hope the rhythm of our memories remains—
steady as the tide,
unbroken as the stars.
And when the world grows still,
may you feel me there—
not as a name you’ve forgotten,
but as a warmth
woven into the fabric of your soul.
Even if you cannot remember
the roads we walked,
the moments that shaped us,
will you still feel the echo of my love
in the quiet corners of your heart?
And when the years grow colder,
may you never forget this:
you were held by my love.
It carried you through the storms,
through every shadow and silence,
and it remains,
undimmed,
unchanged.
And when you forget everything,
I hope my smile lingers on your lips.
I hope my voice, soft as a breath,
still reaches your heart—
a quiet "I love you,"
a truth that refuses to fade.
Even if my memories turn to dust,
even if my name falls silent on your lips,
one truth will remain:
my love, vast as the ocean,
timeless as the stars,
will forever be yours.

I would rather hold half of you
than lose the rest.
Half your words,
half your touch,
is better than silence,
better than the void
that threatens to consume me whole.
I would rather stumble blind into sharp edges,
press my hands to the wounds,
and call it love,
than face a world
where your shadow no longer lingers.
I would find you
in the center of my breaking,
in the pulse of my pain,
and though it shatters me,
I would stay still.
Take half of me,
and I will give you everything—
even the parts that ache.
Trace the crimson rivers
that spill quietly from my heart,
love bleeding out slowly,
but willingly.
I drift into the mirage of you,
collapsing into the hollow spaces
where you once stood.
Half is all you give.
Half is all I take.
Half is all I need—
because it’s still you.
Leave me in the quiet corners,
where I crumble like autumn leaves,
waiting for the wind of your presence
to gather me again.
And when you return,
give me half.
Half a glance,
half a moment,
just enough to remind me
that I still exist
in the orbit of your world.
Hold me—not the way I need,
but just enough
to make me forget
how little of you I truly have.
Half of you feels like drowning,
and yet, without it,
I cannot breathe.
Half a word,
half a touch,
and I take it silently.
Because even half a pain
that belongs to you
feels like everything
I was meant to endure.
Your absence is a shadow,
stretching across my days,
but even shadows are proof
that light once touched me.
And I hold on to that light,
even when it burns.
I wait for the day
when your half becomes whole,
when you see the pieces of me
scattered at your feet
and choose to pick them up.
Even broken, even halved,
you are the only truth I have ever known.
The only ache
I would choose again,
and again,
and again.
Even if it means losing myself
in the spaces you leave behind.

You are more than nerves,
more than trembling hands—
you are a storm within my chest,
a tidal wave breaking the fragile walls of my heart,
pulling me under,
then pushing me back to breathe,
only to drown me again.
You, my fear,
are always a step ahead.
No matter how fast I run,
you are there—
fixed like a shadow,
unyielding.
I hate you,
hate the way you twist my thoughts,
how you sharpen them against me,
but you are all I’ve ever known.
You are the deepest cut,
the sharpest truth,
and yet,
the only part of me that feels alive.
At four a.m.,
you rise like a phantom in the dark,
lighting fires in the corners of my mind.
Your voice, louder than silence,
burns through my chest.
I come home,
tear-streaked and hollow,
but there you are,
waiting.
Always waiting.
You are the fog that settles in my mind,
thick and unyielding,
blurring the edges of my sanity.
You are the weight I carry,
the anchor that drags me down—
but without you,
I drift,
lost in a hollow void.
You are the tide that pulls me under,
the shadow that stretches across my days,
the ache I despise,
and yet,
the only part of me
I truly understand.
What am I,
if not the sum of my fears?
And if you leave,
who will I become without you?
You are my shadow,
the darkness I flee,
and yet,
the anchor that keeps me from floating away.
You are the storm I curse,
and the only home
I’ve ever known.

Who do I turn to  
when the world is wrapped in shadow,  
when the silence within me  
swells into a storm I can’t contain?  
The darkness stretches endlessly,  
a hollow chasm so deep  
that even those who glimpse its edge  
step back,  
afraid to fall,  
afraid they’ll never climb back out.  

What do I do  
when I offer my hand,  
aching for connection,  
only to feel it left untouched?  
Not out of cruelty,  
but fear—  
fear that holding me  
might pull them under too.  
What do I do  
when pain feels like the only constant,  
its embrace familiar,  
its weight suffocating—  
yet safe?  

I tell myself,  
“It’s not the worst it’s been.  
I know these shadows.  
I know how to exist  
in this quiet absence of light.”  
The darkness, for all its heaviness,  
is steady.  
But the sun—  
the sun blinds me with its demands,  
its brightness asks for a joy  
I no longer have.  
It wants a version of me  
that I left behind long ago.  

So I swallow my words,  
tuck them deep where no one can see.  
Who would want to hear them?  
Who could stand the weight of them?  
Negative thoughts cling like smoke,  
choking the air between us,  
so I stay quiet,  
choosing the solitude of silence  
over the risk of being too much.  

I know I could come to you.  
But how much could I truly share  
before you see where I stand—  
before you realize the depth of my shadows,  
and step back like the rest?  

Maybe it’s better this way.  
To lock the cracks inside,  
to hold my brokenness close,  
so it doesn’t seep into your light.  
You don’t see me cry,  
but you don’t see me dance either.  
And I wonder—  
if I let you in,  
if I unraveled the truth of my pain,  
would you listen?  
Or would you leave?  

Would my shadows smother the light you see in me?  
Would you forget the laughter,  
the joy I once carried,  
and see only the storm  
that lingers now?  
What version of me lives in your mind?  
The one who danced freely,  
or the one who crumbles beneath the weight of silence?  

If I speak my pain,  
will it become yours too?  
Maybe it’s selfish to burden you.  
Maybe it’s better to carry it alone,  
to bury it deep where no one can find it.  
Maybe I can protect you  
from the darkness that calls me home.  

But even as I shield you from my rain,  
even as I let your sun shine unbroken,  
I feel myself fading.  
The edges of who I am  
grow thin and blurred,  
a quiet erosion of everything I used to be.  

What good is it to stay silent,  
to keep you near,  
if I lose myself in the process?  
What good is it to save you from my storm,  
if I drown in the flood alone?

Would you love me more  
if I dissolved into the air,  
a fleeting whisper,  
soft as the breath of the wind,  
asking for nothing,  
tied to no shape, no weight?  
If I shed this fragile body,  
this skin heavy with imperfections,  
would I finally be enough?  

Would you cherish me  
if I let go of my flaws,  
if I became the shimmer of dew  
on trembling leaves at dawn,  
or the sunbeam warming your cheek?  
If I were the rhythm of rain,  
gentle and fleeting,  
touching the earth without leaving a mark—  
would I seem lighter,  
easier to hold in your hands?  

If I quieted the chaos,  
smoothed the edges of my emotions,  
became something softer,  
would you find it easier to love me?  
Would you reach for me  
if I were a butterfly,  
fragile and beautiful,  
a fleeting life you could only hold for a moment?  
Would my fragility make me precious,  
or would you let me drift away  
as easily as I arrived?  

If I were the roots beneath your feet,  
the steady tree you lean on,  
would my stillness be enough for you?  
Would you water my silence,  
tend to my devotion,  
or would you forget me,  
unchanging,  
until I was gone?  

Would you breathe me in  
if I became the air,  
invisible but essential,  
filling your lungs without asking for space?  
Would you crave me more  
if I were the breeze—  
light and fleeting,  
never too much,  
never too deep?  
Or is it my depth that frightens you,  
the vast ocean inside me,  
its waves crashing against your walls,  
seeking to be known?  

Would you love me more  
if I unraveled the threads of my humanity—  
the rawness,  
the mess,  
the longing you can’t seem to hold?  
If I became less real,  
less flawed,  
less alive,  
would I finally be what you want me to be?  

If I gave up everything  
that makes me who I am,  
would I fit into your world?  
Or would I slip through your hands,  
a ghost of what I once was,  
still never enough  
for the love I hoped to find?  

Tell me—  
if I were less,  
would you love me more?  
Or would I vanish  
before you ever truly saw  
who I am?