Forgiveness—
that’s what we need.

To erase the past
and rewrite our story.

When I picture myself at fifty,
looking back,
I’d be happy to see the story
of a young woman
who was once erased
in her marriage—
but in the end,
they grew
and were happy.

I’d be glad to see
a garden
that once had no hope
yet somehow
we made it bloom.

Not just me—
us.

As I sift through the old albums,
I come across photos of us captured over many seasons—reminders of our journey together,
From discovering first love to the time we drifted apart and became strangers.
I'm taken aback by the emotions that arise as I hold these memories. Remembering our season of blooming, I can still feel the magic of walking on cloud nine.
I am deeply grateful for the countless joyful moments we shared, each one a treasure in its own right.
For the most part, it seems time has faded the bitterness and sorrow while preserving the happy memories intact—so I thought.
Until I come to the pictures of our child.
His smile, a facade that barely conceals the anxiety in his eyes and the tension in his fists, brings back a flood of painful memories.
All he ever wanted, all he truly deserved, was to feel loved, to know he belonged, and to have a home with both families.
I bow my head in shame, remembering how he became a pawn in this battle for power.
The price he paid for belonging to a family unit that chose resentment over kindness towards a child is heartbreaking.

What good is the law that requires a mother to send the child to spend time with their father, but it cannot enforce that the father be loving or kind?
The father could tell the child that he has no food for him,
or make the hungry child sleep on a cold floor without facing any repercussions.
I can let go of the acts of betrayal and attacks that were directed at me.
But how do I forget or forgive the arrows that pierced the innocence and trust of our child, whom we all failed to protect?

stay away
it's time to ****
I'm mentally ill

I'm going to destroy
this place you call home

look me in the eyes
everyone dies
at the end of time
but-
I'm a monster with a soul
I'm already whole

just with another kind of hole
"isn't kindness a weakness?"

you can be speechless

just wait for my tears
you'll know my fears

When I was writting in an endless way to ponder over
It was entirely a new direction for me to step in

It was then, at a preparation of the get gathering
Alot and full of the sweet stories has happened,Meanwhile,
during the grandmother plans of a party to the house.
Once , and an object to the day before.
A lengthy hour prevails a new friendship.

In my mind, A beautiful way to flourish is it,  for me.
Prevails a strive for thee.
Life's and its all about a story of success for me and thee.

I, on my own, having an objective,,,,
Of a ship and a master,,
Whereas I'd find of any ocean
of a still and peaceful.

Childhood narrates an unfulfilled story of a non-present years
In my fantasy, I wish that voice of the sweet pieces of the childish. stories.

Sunny morning,
the Sun shining, smiling brightly,
in the blue sky,
soft, white fluffy clouds float gently,
a gentle breeze blows,
​then comes the wind,
it gathers speed,
bringing dark clouds along
turning everything dark,
then comes the rain,
a heavy downpour,
​the sun breaks through,
a rainbow appears,
dark clouds disappear,
the sky turns blue again,
the Sun smiles once more.

I can’t eat undercooked eggs with runny yolks,
Maybe that’s why I always end up frying them a little too much.
I can’t give only a little of myself to someone,
Maybe that’s why I end up losing all of myself to failed relationships.

But I can always learn.
To like runny yolks and give only as much as I get.

~Gunnika

If the harsh words you spoke

could ever rebound,  

you would have known

how painful they are.