He said,
“One day I just said **** it.”
Like that. Just like that.
Quit his job, sold his stuff, bought a van—
and now it’s him and Wolfie,
his pointy-eared pup,
somewhere between red dirt and blue sky
on a road that doesn’t ask for permission.

I found him on some random forum
— not even supposed to be there —
we talked tonight,
he told me things like I wasn’t just
a name with no face.
He told me about the sunsets he never planned to see,
how they sneak up on him like a song
that makes you stop walking,
how the sky melts into colours
too good for photos.
And Wolfie,
perched besides him, alert and calm,
ears slicing the wind
like she was born for freedom.

He said he did everything he was told to do.
Uni. Job. Money. Success.
People clapped. He felt nothing.
So he left.
No map, just vibes and Spotify.

And here I am.
crammed into a plastic desk,
under buzzing lights
learning about wars
I’ll never fight
in clothes that aren’t me
surrounded by people
who talk but never say anything real.

I told him I’m 15 and tired all the time.
He said,
“That’s heavy for 15.”
I said
“It’s heavier when no one notices.”
He said
“Hold on. You won’t always be stuck.”

And maybe it’s weird,
but I keep thinking about his van
under that endless sky,
Wolfie with ears like tiny sails
chasing ghosts across sunburnt sand,
and him—
choosing beauty on purpose.
And I pretend I’m not
this ghost in a uniform
but her—
the girl who said **** it
and meant it.

Maybe one day,
when the world stops demanding hall passes,
I’ll do it too.
Maybe I’ll find my own road
and a dog like Wolfie
and a van
and a sky that doesn’t judge me
for wanting to disappear
into something more.

Raindrops kiss the earth,
he sits beneath the grey sky—
eyes still on the stars.

Clouds hide every light,
but he whispers to the dark,
“Maybe one will fall.”

Storms can’t shake his faith—
even meteors seem far,
but he waits, and waits.

The world says, “Give up.”
He only tightens his grip—
hope like fire inside.

Rain or stars above,
he believes in miracles—
even if they burn.


Erennwrites

He gave her orchids, not roses, not flame—
But quiet things, with roots that cling
To silent bark, and bloom in shade—
The way he loved, unseen.

She smiled like spring, but loved like wind,
Passing through without regret.
He stayed like dusk, holding the light,
Even as the sun forgets.

The others brought tangerines, bright and sweet,
Sun-kissed and easy to hold—
But he only offered orchids, slow to bloom,
In a language too patient, too old.

She never saw how he watered hope,
In a garden she never walked.
How he learned to speak her silences,
And answered when she never talked.

He watched her dance with summer hearts,
Each one burning out too soon—
Yet still, he kept the orchids near,
Blooming beneath a winter moon.

No final scene, no curtain fall,
No music swelled, no kiss—
Just him and orchids, year by year,
Tending love that she won’t miss.

Despite all this, always smiling
His love for her, unwavering.


Erennwrites