To the boy I love — Should I start with the morning your voice greeted mine before the sun had even made its decision to rise? Or with the way you play guitar like it’s a secret form of prayer — bending sound into feeling until the air in the room forgets it’s just air? Continue reading

Lately, I find myself hovering at the threshold of an ancient question—whether this “I” that gazes out from behind my eyes is something to tend to like a delicate flame, or to simply let drift, untethered, through the ever-turning sky. Am I a spirit wandering inside a human shell, or a human who, by some Continue reading

I refuse to wear the armor. The chainmail of apathy, the helmet of indifference—I leave them rusting in the corner, gathering dust like unread poetry books. In a world where every feeling comes with a preemptive smirk, where sincerity is a punchline and passion is labeled cringe, I am choosing to be annoying. Not the Continue reading

We are taught, quietly and young, to believe that love is a garden we must tend relentlessly—if we water enough, bloom enough, stand tall enough, perhaps then we will be worthy of harvesting its fruits. But love is no garden with locked gates. It is wild rain, falling where it may, unbound by deserts or Continue reading

Lately, I find myself cradling the quiet, tender beauty of imperfection, like a seashell with a crack that lets the ocean whisper through. There’s something sacred in the flawed, as if life itself presses its fingerprints into the things we often try to smooth over. The more polished the surface, the less light it seems Continue reading

Traveling alone feels like stepping into the edge of a dream, a liminal space where time stretches, bends, and forgets itself. You become untethered, not quite belonging to the earth you left behind, nor to the sky carrying you forward. Words, once so central, dissolve into fragments—“thank you,” “excuse me”—small gestures that vanish as soon Continue reading

I like myself. Do you know how rare it is to say that—to breathe it into the air, as if it were a fragile spell, one that could scatter at the slightest doubt? To whisper it in the quiet of an empty room, where the silence presses close, unflinching, and every shadow on the wall Continue reading

What am I afraid of? Who am I? Questions that linger in the air like smoke, shifting forms but never truly dispersing. I find myself thinking about what I am thinking about—this strange hall of mirrors where perception folds into itself. Who is perceiving me here? Is it my fractured self, the one I shape Continue reading

There is a quiet revolution in saying, “I don’t owe anyone anything.” It rings of freedom, of claiming one’s autonomy in a world that sometimes demands too much. But when I close my eyes and feel the gentle thrum of life around me, I know this isn’t my truth. I am stitched into the fabric Continue reading

because in that small spark there’s a moment where the room holds its breath, and I can pretend time pauses too. The coffee, left too long on the windowsill, tastes like something that once held promise but settled for less. The rain taps against the window in uneven rhythms, a half-forgotten song that whispers. Listen Continue reading