Dark academia

i think love is when someone actually listens, when they remember the random story you told them three weeks ago and bring it up later like it mattered

you are allowed to be soft, to be messy, to be loud and quiet all at once, you are allowed to take up space, you are allowed to be a storm and a calm sea on the same day, and still be enough

love should not burn you. it should hold you like sunlight through curtains, warm, gentle, alive.

i think art isn’t a masterpiece, it’s the mess you make when you try to tell the truth, the pieces of yourself you leave scattered, hoping someone will see them and understand

the real ones don’t ask where you’ve been, they just sit beside you, like you never left, and somehow, in their silence, you feel whole again

maybe the point was never to go back, maybe the point was to learn how to breathe without needing what once hurt you. maybe the point was to carry the cracks inside you, not like scars, but like reminders that even broken things can still hold air, still hold light, still hold themselves together in their own quiet way

some days, i feel like the scar itself, heavy and raw, a reminder of everything i’ve been through. other days i’m the hand that traces it softly, trying to understand it, trying to forgive it. maybe healing isn’t about forgetting the pain, but learning to hold it gently and keep moving forward anyway.

your touch was never just skin on skin, it was whole galaxies colliding, and i’m still learning how to breathe without it

things just happen like rain without warning, and suddenly the world is not the same, I look softer, think deeper, as if the universe rewrote me in silence.

you know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

i don’t crave a perfect love, just someone who remembers the little things: how i take my tea, the songs i quietly skip, the silence i need at 2 a.m.; love that’s spoken in details, not declarations.