Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
kn Mar 28
Dearest Parents,

I don’t even know where to begin, because there’s so much sitting in my heart. Some of it heavy, some of it aching and all of it quietly waiting to be heard.

I miss you both.
I miss home.
I miss the feeling of safety I used to associate with your presence. Even when things were hard, I believed, deep down, that love was somewhere in the room.

But now… I feel banished. Like I was pushed out from the one place I thought would always take me in. I don’t know if it was something I did, or didn’t do, or simply who I am. But the silence, the distance, it’s louder than any words you could’ve spoken.

I’ve been trying to be strong. To hold myself up without the foundation I used to rely on. To believe I still matter, even when I feel forgotten. It hurts. It hurts in the kind of way that lingers, that wakes me up at night, that makes me question my worth.

Still, somewhere in me, there’s a small flicker of love that hasn’t gone out. A part of me that wishes you could see me. Not as a disappointment, not as someone to cast out, but just as your child. I’m not perfect, but I’ve always carried love for you. I still do.

Maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe nothing will change. But I needed to say it, for me. I needed to let these words out of the cage they’ve been in.

With love and sadness,
Me
Immortality Mar 25
she feel his gaze,
he feels her–
silent admiration.

"why not confess?"
cupid sighs,
but god only smiles,
"some love is made
to be felt,
not said."
May be, they are not coward or scared;
it’s just their love language....;)
Dancing, swirling in the rain,
He drowns his tears, conceals his pain.
A boy so strong, yet torn inside,
Believing none stand by his side.

From afar, she sees him break,
Wishing his sorrow she could take.
He hides behind the pouring sky,
Never turning to meet her eye.

She holds him close in dreams so tight,
Hoping to chase away his sorrowful night.
Yet time moves on, the story stays,
He loves another, lost in haze.

And she—she lingers in the rain,
Hiding heartache, masked in pain.
"Sometimes, unspoken love is better than revealing it. It may hurt at first, but who knows? Maybe it’s for your own good."
Agnes de Lods Mar 16
I trace the sign of infinity
against the window
with my fingertips.

The cold, transparent glass
reflects the distant lights.
The evening city moves so fast,
and time seems to slow down.

Yet this disturbing reflection
lingers in my mind.
I have been living in this town for years,
feeling as if I’m not really here,
in reality.

Somewhere unknown,
behind my eyes
unspoken nostalgia
softly calls to me,
drawing ever closer
like a friend
who knows me best,
who truly sees me as I am.

What is it that I long for so deeply?
What kind of truth do I seek to reveal?
I feel whole in this human existence
but an irrational voice murmurs:
This is not your place,
not your time.

Maybe I feel like this
because,
one day, by chance
I left my body in pain
touching infinity
and I sensed freedom
beyond the weight of human doubt?
Maryann I Mar 15
I’ve lost count—
was it the fourth winter or the seventh spring
when the silence curled too tightly around my ribs,
and I mistook it for peace?
When the night stopped being a comfort
and started swallowing me whole?

I’ve lost count—
of how many times I’ve stood at the edge of the thought,
toe curling over the ledge,
heartbeat whispering, ”this time, maybe.”
Of how often I’ve written letters I never mailed,
just to prove to myself I was still worth a goodbye.

There were nights I rehearsed my exit
like a prayer no one would answer—
softly, solemnly,
just in case the universe was listening.

I’ve forgotten the shape of my first goodbye,
but I remember the echo—
how it rang in my bones long after the moment passed,
how it became a second heartbeat,
steady and hollow.

How many bottles did I uncap,
not to swallow,
but to measure the weight of the idea in my palm?
How many bridges did I cross,
wondering if the wind would take mercy
and push me before I had to decide?

I’ve counted calendar days like scars,
tallied time in tear-salted pillowcases,
marked milestones not by celebration,
but by survival.

There’s a number for everything—
beats per minute, breaths per hour,
how long it takes for a wound to scab,
how many milligrams it takes to numb a scream—
but there is no metric
for how many times a soul tries to disappear.

People ask why I’m so tired.
I smile,
because how do you explain
what it means to dig yourself out of your own grave
again and again
with bare, trembling hands?

But still—
I wake up.
Not always because I want to.
Sometimes just because I didn’t succeed.

And yet—
I’m still here.
Tired, yes.
Heavy with ghosts I haven’t named.
But here.

And that has to count for something.
This year has been overwhelming, to say the least. But through it all, I’ve been fighting—holding on, trying to stay grounded just a little longer, enough to heal and find myself again. I want to express my deep gratitude to this community, which has been a place of solace when I needed it most. To those who have listened to my vents, offered comfort, or simply acknowledged my pain, your presence has meant more than words can capture. Your quiet support has been a lifeline, and I am truly thankful for it.
Yllu Minaré Mar 14
We saw each other more often
frequent as the primes in 1 to 10
Mending each other’s boredom
widening our degrees of freedom

Ranted on things under the sun
Noted our signs, roots, and sum
We took turns airing problems
Shared proofs for peer checking

Did sanity check on our numbers
Whether in life, music, or games
Exchanged secrets and dreams
Reciprocated emojis and DMs

In the end, we skipped one thing
An asymptote we avoid touching
Assumed “us” was undefined
Then met our limits and resigned
Sam S Feb 27
Let me see—
there’s a deep conversation in thee,
a melody spun in hushed restraint,
a hunger veiled in lips so faint.

What do you believe?
Do shadows sigh where longing dwells,
where silence tolls like distant bells?
Do hearts still bleed in secret rites,
bound by hands that crave the night?

Let me see the hidden world within thee—
the velvet dark, the gilded ache,
the vow unbroken, the hands that take.
Unveil the echoes, unearth the deep,
let me taste what your soul dares to keep,
let me drown where your ghosts do weep.
Will you… will you let me see
A quiet invitation to the unseen, a plea not to take, but to understand. Some doors remain locked, some ghosts prefer silence—but the longing to see remains.
Sam S Feb 21
Some things are left without a sound,
Yet still, they echo all around.
The things we hide beneath the skin,
Can show without a word or grin.

A glance can speak the things we fear,
A silence that the heart holds dear.
The unspoken truths remain alive,
In every pause, in every sigh.

No voice is needed to be true,
For silence whispers what we knew.
The quiet speaks the deepest plea,
A language only hearts can see.
Vianne Lior Feb 9
The cup of tea
sat cold on the table,
I waited for her,
but the chair remained empty.
Vianne Lior Feb 9
He smiled like it was the last time,
And I knew it, though I didn’t ask why—
The air between us shifted,
Unspoken, like a secret the sky keeps,
Just for a moment, before it fades into silence.

His words lingered like a whisper caught in the wind,
Unspoken yet understood.
We were two fragments of something infinite,
Touching only briefly before slipping through the cracks of what could have been,
But in that brief pause, everything felt complete.
Next page