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Cynthia 12h
We underestimate how close hate is to love.
I was high on the idea of someone wanting me.
Even if love had two faces,
even if it hurt and twisted parts of me that I swore untouchable.

You built walls and called it a home.
But at night I’m a refugee in a place that made me feel like I’d never belong.
I’m still waiting for permission to exist in a place that once claimed to be “mine”.

You took possession of my heart and called it passion.
You’d say I’d never get anything better.
This is what I deserved.
This was love.
And love was enough,
someone without a heart might say.

You carved your name into places no one could see.
Left scars in parts of my body
that would never feel fully mine anymore.
My skin remembers every memory my mind tried so desperately to forget.
I’m a ghost in a body that forgot how to survive.

I knew I had to leave when I realized that love shouldn’t have meant abandoning who I was before you.
It shouldn’t have been accepting your mistreatment
and calling it presence.

But I’m not bitter anymore.
Because my love in you was permanent.
And people will ask about us to you.
And you’ll remember the heart you lost,
the only one you really ever had.
But when they ask me?
I’ll remember someone who taught me what love wasn’t.
Cynthia 2d
“Winter Nights”

I put on my headphones and walk out
into the winter snow.

It is 12:00 at night and the streets are dark,
the snow is falling,
the lights are throbbing.
Perfect place for a walk.

Walking in a way is relaxing,
it finds a way of enveloping the moment.
Quieting the loud noises.

Those quiet nights that almost feel isolating.
There’s no one out,
no one except me.

The silence is almost deafening,
it allows me to hear the thoughts I had hidden.
So my mind crowds,
full on unspoken words,
and heavy sentences.

Each time I walk my feet feel heavier,
the weight of my own life
holding me back.

But I don’t stop.
I keep walking even if
it gets hard.
Each breath coming out more ragged
and I’m just counting down the minutes
until I make it home.

I stop,
when I feel I can’t no more.
I get down on one knee and
catch my breath.
The coldness of the wet snow
sneaks into my warm jacket.

I don’t know why
or how,
but I get back up.
Back on the same two feet that once
brought me down.
And I walk,
until I’m sore,
until I can’t no more.

I rise because I swore I would never let myself fall into the kind of silence that swallows me whole anymore.

Until I finally see light.
I run faster,
and faster.
Then I reach it.

The light is you,
it’s always been you.
Because during the darkest times,
you never moved.
It was me.
Cynthia 2d
Whatever you find comfort in,
bask yourself in it.



I met a girl at church,
her mom got diagnosed with
terminal cancer.

Yet she stood tall,
she prayed
and trusted she would be okay.

I respect her.
She was put against the wall and the knife,
but she took a step forward without fear.

Whatever you find comfort in—
whether it is religion,
music,
family or friends.
Don’t let it go.

Because through the toughest times,
they will guide you.

And there will be plenty of those.
When you feel as if there’s no exit,
no meaning,
no purpose.

But you will seek comfort in what you know best,
and I trust
you will make it out.
Despite what you already
made yourself believe,
you’ll make it out.
Strength in your weak moments. Finding hope.
Cynthia Jul 5
I once tried to become the sky.
Let the wind take what was left of me.
Let my only legacy be:
“The Girl Who Once Flew.”

I once tried to become the sky.
But heaven was heavier than I imagined.
I thought it would make sense—
I hoped the air would catch me,
that it would hold me as someone that meant something.

But gravity had other plans.
I didn’t fly.
I fell.
And I didn’t even realize I was falling until I looked up and saw I was at rock bottom.

Yet there was something grounding about falling.
It was satisfying to know
that I’ve fallen and couldn’t fall any more further.

Instead I laid there.
My legs and arms spread,
still bracing for a concrete I already hit.

I looked up at the clouds with envy.
Not because they floated—
but because they’ll never know what it’s like to fall.

I once tried to become the sky.
But I wrote this instead.
So I’d have something I left behind.
Who with a heart can stomach how much we can stomach.
  Jun 18 Cynthia
Pri
I bite.
Not with teeth.
with silence,
with sharp glances,
with walls built higher than your reach.

I’m not cruel.
I’m just tired
of being kind first
and torn apart second.

You call it attitude.
I call it armor.
Because being soft
never saved me.
It only made the fall hurt more.

So I speak less now.
Agree less.
Trust less.
I pull away before someone has the chance
to walk out first.

It’s not that I don’t want love.
I’ve learned that even “I care about you”
can come with conditions.
Even soft hands
can leave bruises
you can’t see.

I bite
because once,
I didn’t.
And it nearly broke me.
(inspired by Isle of Dogs)
Cynthia Jun 14
Not everything sacred needs to be born of suffering.

Not every acknowledgement needs to come from rock bottom.

My love,
you are allowed to feel peace.
You are allowed to live a joyful life.
You are allowed to experience softness and call it sacred.

So stop using your pain as proof of your depth.
It’s time to retire that narrative,
that your pain is the most interesting thing about you—it’s not!
There are hundreds of beautiful reasons for your existence,
but suffering isn’t one of them.

You can explain every scar.
But when it comes to healing?
You stall.
Because healing isn’t poetic.
It’s messy, boring, frustrating.

Peace makes you suspicious.
If things go too well for too long,
your brain starts poking at old wounds or inventing new ones.
You miss the chaos even though you claim to want peace.

But here’s what you need to know;
you’re still becoming.
You’re still growing.
You can still be profound without bleeding for it.

So allow yourself to heal,
and let joy into your life,
because the best version of you isn’t your pain,
it’s your rebirth.

Don't punish your body for carrying the weight of your soul.
You are meant to be alive.
Very important message.
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