the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head

her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids.

every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always

the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it

her absence is a hum
beneath the streetlight.
it slips through my curtains -
silver,
never soft enough
to hush my thoughts.
give me a break.

her name is a wind,
caught behind my ribs,
blowing through
the rooms i built for her
but never locked.

every breath feels borrowed,
taken -
like she left it behind
by accident.
like her smile,
still living in the quiet
between my heartbeats.

the bed forgets
how to hold me right,
how to put me to sleep.
some nights,
loneliness is a second pillow.
other nights,
it’s her voice -
curled up
where my dreams should be.
but they aren’t.

im thinking too much
again.
why won't you say anything?
all i said was --
"i miss you"
is that too much?
am i too much?
am i not enough?
should i love you?
it's only been a week..
i can make myself --
if it makes you happy.
am i texting too often?
did i send the wrong emojis?
was i not funny enough today?
not talkative enough?

****.
im thinking too much..
again.

i never lived there,
but i miss it
like it was home.
like i left something behind --
a version of me
still bundled up
in those hotel sheets,
in the merch line,
and in the way we laughed
way 
too loud
under those
neon blue signs.

it was just a weekend,
but the city held me
like it knew me.
like it didn't care
where i had flown from
as long as i sang
with everything
i had.

now im home.
but im not all here,
i left a version of myself
on that floor
of that arena,
still glowing.
still screaming.
still full
of everything
i want to feel again.

i left a piece of myself
in a city
i don't live in.
and some nights,
it feels like that version
of me
had it better --
louder laughter,
lighter shoulders,
less worry,
a heartbeat
in sync
with the music
she lives for.

and i wonder
if she's still
out there somewhere,
dancing along
to the beat.

i left behind
a version of me
that night,
at the concert,
on that arena floor --
lighter,
louder,
happier,
and still dancing
in a city
i don't live in.

we never speak
just glance
across italian class
across the corridor
across everything we don't say

she sits beside.. him
laughing loudly as he kisses her cheek
but her eyes flick
they always do
to me.
the girl sitting alone
head in a book

we trade seconds
like stolen notes
neither is brave enough
to unfold
to admit
and maybe in some other version of today
those glances would have been hands

happiness
to me
was her laugh
spilling into my lap
like sunlight --
warm.
and mine,
before i i knew
i needed it,
needed her.

and just like that
it's the first --
again.
a new month
arrives all too quickly
and too quietly
to prepare for.

they always say
that it's a chance
to start over,
to make new goals.
but i'm still stuck
in last months
grief.
in love that never
stayed.

everything now
feels muted --
calm
and in the wrong way.
its sort of like
the silence
after a gentle storm
you didn't see
was the end.

i used to think
love
was loud.
but the truth is,
it leaves
quickly
and quietly...
and all at once.

your face,
infront of mine --
you look so heavenly
up close.
your breath grazes mine,
our noses
almost touch...
but i blink,
and you're gone. 
you're just a figment
of my imagination.

you call me petal,
suddenly im blushing
like a rose in the morning
before the sun knows to look away

your fingers brush against mine
and something blooms --
not loudly,
but like orchids
deciding its time.

you always smell like wild lavender
and stolen hours,
like the kind of spring
you never see coming
until it's already
wrapped around your ribs.

i used to hate snowdrops.
they're too open, too soft.
now i plant them into poems
because they remind me of you --
brave
enough
to bloom anyway.

this thing between us
isn't fireworks.
it's passion,
it's roots,
and patience
it feels like sunlight shared on a park bench
where your head finds my shoulder
and stays.

your favourite colour
was blue.
maybe it still is,
i wouldn't know.
but whenever i see
that deep shade of blue,
that isn't too deep to be
navy and thoughts,
but also not
light enough to be
ashy and gentle,
i think of you.
this was your colour.
and i still
see you in it.

i used to think
you just felt butterflies
for boys --
the funny,
immature,
class clowns.

but now,
i know:
the butterflies don't care
who makes them flutter.
it might be a boy.
it could also be
a girl with a
soft smile
and freckles.

and maybe
girls make them flutter
more than boys.
or maybe...
someone else does.
maybe no one does.

and that's okay.

you only ever call --
when she doesn't answer
to your pleas.
i pick up anyway,
just to hear
a voice --
one that won't
choose me.

i dont always feel
like im growing,
like im changing --
but even flowers
take their time
to bloom
and to change.

there's a feeling
in my chest --
it's a chemical ache
that fizzles
like soda,
when you pop the can open,
it happens every time
i see
her.

i like to think
you found my soul
before i had even
discovered
what it meant
to hand it over.

you whispered
forevermore
like it was a spell,
one you weren't planning
on keeping.
and i believed it.
because your eyes
said it
first.

and now you
walk past me
with that same mouth --
but it never
says my name.
yet i sit
with everything you left
unspoken,
sort of like a story
im rewriting
just to feel
chosen.

i had gotten
closer
than i
should've --
and i still
remeber
how it felt
to almost
be loved.

it was
a nice
feeling.

i always stare
at the stars
in the middle of nowhere,
because you liked constellations.
we used to find them together --
drawing silly lines in the sky
like the universe
made sense if we
connected the dots.

now i lie there,
in the middle of nowhere,
staring at the stars --
alone.
the sky holds them,
but it doesn't feel like it used to.
i can see orion
and i remeber
vividly
how your fingers traced it on my arm
like i was part of the sky too.

but you're not here anymore.
but i keep looking up,
at the constellations,
the bright stars..
just in case
you're still searching
but from somewhere
i can't see.

i forget, sometimes,
that everyone has their own world
just as full as mine.

that ******* the bus,
she always has blue glitter on her eyelids,
she has someone
she cries over
when it rains.

and that boy,
who laughs a little too loud in the hallways --
he has a grandmother
she calls him every sunday.
he has a playlist
that he never shares.

i forget
that lives unfold around me,
not just mine.
no one else's life
pauses
just because im not
in the same room as them.
they're full of joy,
grief,
midnight cravings,
and rom com dreams
that don't star me.

but tonight?
the warm city lights
look like conversations
ill never hear --
and i remeber.

she was dangerous
and in the most
silent form --
she wasn't fire,
but she was
a glance
that always
stayed
too
long.

i know that we're drifting.
i don't want to think its real.
i don't want to know what happens to us.
our friendship --
meant so much.
i'd hate to lose it.
i don't want that.
i want us to stay close,
stay friends.
i just need you in my life.

i need to tell you about all the gossip --
all my crushes,
all my weird fashion choices.
i need to tell you,

because i don't want to drift.

you were always
something oceanic --
pulling,
never touching,
loud
but somehow
without sound.

i had never learnt
how to swim,
but i waded into you
like i wouldn’t drown.
even though i couldn't swim.
i waded anyway,
like softness
could save me.

you had looked at me
like a wave
right before it breaks --
beautiful
confident
but too full
of something
it cannot hold.

i should’ve known.
even low tides leave salt.
even still,
quiet, gentle water
it pulls you under
if you stay too long.
especially if you stay too long.

but gosh,
you were just so --
blue.
and i was so incredibly
willing,
to just let you in
to let myself drown,
slowly losing myself.

funny,
how a person can turn into
a kind of silence --
like a voice
that never even left,
but stopped answering
all the calls
you swore
were mutal. 

you had called it
fading.
i called it
staying
in the smaller ways --
as in
the way i check
my phone
at dusk
like a ritual,
as if you'd just
appear.
because the sky
turns soft enough
for second
chances.

if missing someone
counts as calling --
i never really stopped
calling
for you.

you know that feeling?
when your heartbeat
just quietly moves
into your ears
your throat
your ribs
your skull --
like it's trying to upset you
or escape,
but you're the one
trapping it.

i felt it
when she brushed my arm
it was an accident -
maybe not..
i don't know
but my chest went loud
my heart beat picked up --
not fast,
just loud
like every part of me
was pulse
like it was screaming
for everyone to know
i was alive.
it was loud.

i could feel it
in my teeth
in my fingertips
in my stomach
my organs jumped
like i swallowed lightning.

it wasn't love --
not yet.
but something in me
already knew
how loudly she could make me feel
all my emotions flooded me at once
and it was just
a light touch.

some nights,
i cry
so quietly
that it feels
like my
soul
is the one
that is doing all
the crying
for me.

sunlight spills
across her face,
the warm glow seeping
through the curtains
quietly,
while she sleeps --
like the morning
is in love with her too.

her lashes catch
the warm sun,
like she's dreaming
in golden.
i stay still,
quiet,
gentle --
not because i might wake her,
but because i don't want
to break
the moment.

guess who has her third project planned?

me.

im once again..
excited.

can't wait to share it with you.

might make 12 parts 🤭🤭

i feel
like im
unfinished --
almost like
my life is a story
only half-told
with too many
blank pages
left.

happiness hums in the quiet light,
laughs that bloom without a why,
the warmth is caught
in passing glances-
bare tlfeet dancing through the sky
all these feelings,
tangled and small,
easily labelled as one;
happy.

i looked into
her hazel eyes
a little too long --
which had
surprisingly
been long enough
to wonder
if forever
could fit
in
a
glance.

trying to sleep without you --
is like the depths of hell
the big fires,
the scary people.

i can't get comfy.
my body burns,
aches even,
it itches
without your warmth.
without your touch.
i feel like --
im burning alive

this is the worst it gets,
right?
unable to sleep alone,
unable to cope alone,
needing you with me,
just to quiet my brain
enough
to finally get
some shut eye.

her with the dark hair.
her with the hazel eyes.
her with the gummy smile.
her with the loud laugh.
her.
she's the one that
completely lights up
my day.
she's the one that
can change my mood
with a snap
of her fingers.

i don't miss her per se
not really-
not the way she stirred her coffee counter-clockwise
or how she spoke my name
ever so softly
like a secret
no one else could hold

i miss the feeling
of her-
that imagined life
woven in between shared glances
and almosts
the home i built
in her soft
gummy smile
before i saw the cracks

i miss what never even happened
the parallel version of us
the ones who stayed.
is that still missing her?
or just missing
being wanted
by someone
who never really could?

my ache has no address
no home
yet it answers
to her name
every time
like it's all i know
like she's all i know

i don't exactly know
why im writing this --
maybe just to say it out loud somewhere.
you probably don't even notice the way i look at you. or maybe you do, but you just don't say anything. which somehow,
hurts worse.
its stupid, really. how a simple glance from you can rearrange my whole day. you laugh and i swear that it sounds like something that i've been trying to commit to my memory forever.
i don't need you to like me back --
i think that i just needed you to know the truth.
and maybe that's selfish, maybe that's brave, maybe it's both.
but either way,
im not sending this.
ill just keep on pretending its nothing. like i always do.

hey,
im not quite sure
how to say this.
ive typed it a hundred times
and deleted it
every time.
i like girls.
i don't quite know what that
changes for you --
but it doesn't change who ive
always been.
im still me.
still your daughter.
i just finally wanted to tell you
the truth about myself.
even if it's scaring the **** out of me.
especially if you don't understand,
i hope one day,
you'll still see me
the same.
just more...
whole.
more real.
and more
me.

but im not sending this.
im not ready.

i say
"i don't care"
like it's a piece of armour --
almost like if i say it
enough
itll become
true.

but my soul,
it still aches.
in the middle of the
darkness,
in the silence,
it remebers
what my mouth
tries to forget.

i don't care.
but only
out loud,
the rest of me
still cares --
in the darkness,
and in the silence.

you didnt call.
you never really did.
but my soul
still waited --
it waited quietly,
like it does
every night
you forget
how much
i actually
feel.

i check my phone
like its a ritual
that keeps me alive,
like maybe --
missing me,
is something
you'll eventually
remeber
how to do.

there are names
that i see
light up my screen
that aren't yours --
yet my chest
still tightens
just
in
case.

you used to
always say
that i knew you
too well.
but maybe that's
why i can feel
your silence
before it even
arrives in my hands.

my soul
never asks
for much anymore;
just a call,
a voice,
just something --
to prove
that you had once
felt
more.

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

love,
to me,
felt like warm rain --
it was
gentle,
but still somehow
it was just enough
to soak me
completely.

i think about her
way more than she knows --
shes like a song
stuck in my teeth,
or a dream
that won't leave my head.
it won't wash off.

she laughs
and i hear it for days.
she touches my shoulder
and my whole body,
instantly tries to memorize
the feeling.

this isn't love,
not yet atleast --
it's limerence.
the unbearable
maybe.
the ache that is shaped
like hope
with nowhere to land.

she is
glorious --
in that golden-hour
type of way.
it looks like
she was dipped
in the kind of light
that you can't touch,
but admire.

i listen intently
as she talks about
boys
like she's reading it
from a script
that fits her mouth
almost too
easily.

and i sit there,
i smile and nod,
trying not to look
at her lips
when she stops
paying attention to
my eyes.

she says im her favourite,
her safest place,
her soul sister even --
and i say..
"me too."
yet it still aches
like a confession
i can't give
to her.
to anyone, really.

she's glorious.
and i love her
in the quietest form --
the one that
lets her go
every day
without thinking about
telling her
i ever wanted to
stay.

there was a time
where i truly
believed
"right person, wrong time"
was the closest
i would ever
be
to love.

like timing was a
thief
and i was made
to ache
forevermore.

but then,
i saw her.
it wasn't that kind
of love where
its loud
and cinematic,
almost movie worthy.
it was just
her smile,
and then suddenly --
my chest
hadn't felt so
heavy
anymore.

they never tell you
that love
at first sight
can feel like
healing,
like coming home
to a version
of yourself
that has been lost,
or so you thought.

she didn't just
come into my life.
she healed,
quietly
and softly --
just being there and
not asking
what broke me.

we still talk-
only in echoes now
you send memes
instead of midnight thoughts
or how your mum finally said
"im proud of you"

our laughter-
it used to fill rooms
theatres when we watched a comedy
but now-
it just barely stirs the surface
and i think
we both feel it

there's a silence between us
it hums
between messages
the long pauses
they don't even ask to be broken.
no fight,
no storm,
just the soft unraveling
of something
that was once knotted tightly.

maybe that's
how some tides go-
not crashing
just quietly
pulling back
pulling away softly
without a sound

i keep looking
for the meaning
in small things --
like in the way she says
my name,
somehow it sounds
so right.
or how silence
still answers me.

we're not friends exactly,
not really --
but
we're not more
than that either.
there's an awkward inbetween.

you laugh at my jokes
like you care,
and sometimes
on the rare occasion
you text first --
which is just enough
to trap yourself
in my head.

whatever we are,
it isn't nothing.
but it's never
been right
to call it
something more.

and maybe
that's the worst part --
not the part
where i lose you,
but the part
where i
never really
have you
to call
mine.

my room --
it's away from the people,
the anxiety, 
the problems,
my grades,
my friends,
my co-workers --
it's just my room.
my sanctuary.

i can move things around
whenever i please,
shift the space
to make it more me.
it's mine.
and its peace.
it's my sanctuary.

soul; an archive of feelings, a vulnerable collection of eleven entries. an true archive of feelings. mysterie's first ever project.

these entries are very special and vulnerable, mysterie hopes to connect with fellow poets and poetry lovers with these entries.

the archives:
- i waited
- the way i used to
- the ocean knows me
- waiting
- i still care
- where the soul weeps
- tsunami
- begin again
- the book you left open
- dusk
- chosen

texts never sent, is nysterie's second ever project. consisting of five texts, going to either a crush, a friend, a parent, enemy or even her future self.. somehow.

these unsent texts reveal her true feelings on the situation and what she should've said in the moment, but never did.

https://textsneversent.straw.page << the project page

the texts:
- i just needed you to know
- drifting
- im still me
- not worth my voice
- one for the books

"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.

im not even mad anymore --
im just just
tired
of your antics.
you twisted things
so well
that i actually
started to believe
that i was the villain
in my own story.

you were loud,
but somehow,
im the one that
they stopped
listening to.
it's funny
how that works, huh?

i wont send this.
because you would
more than likely --
just turn it into another reason
to prove me wrong.
but honestly,
youre not worth my voice
anymore.