HER AESTHETIC TALES

Yet people never call her brave- always questions her's bravery.

Or —

It’s the only month that feels like an exhale. No judgments. No noise. Children free from school bells, ice cream melting down your wrist without shame, where you can go to your dream destination. And somewhere in all of it...you meet a version of yourself you forgot existed.

For some, love is a myth — a story too soft to survive in this world. For others it's the only truth that exists.

For some, love is a poison dressed as a promise. For others it's the only last holy thing left.

Some people hate the word love where some worship it like a prayer.

Same FOUR letters— different scars, different salvation.

Don't you know yet ?It is your light that lights the world.

And, we all know this in our bones and muscles — that karma keeps the receipt. You might forget that you had a payment of your deed but karma will never it will take so many other forms to reach at your feet.

what about the lines of those hands that never even know how long, how far, or with whom they were supposed to walk, stay, laugh, cry —

the lines that were meant to belong to someone but never even find a single hand to hold what happens to those hands in the end ?

When they were fading away with the time without ever tasting the happiness without ever feeling love ?

Quite. Clear. Beautiful again— all on its own time.

"Roaming on the streets of overthinking, and stopping at every possible crossroads that looks like to lead me to peace and self-love"

-saniya heraesthetictales

When I am able to get reasons for sadness, then why would I never get an unreason to smile? It's like the universe is playing a tricky game, showing me the hidden shadows but hiding all the visible sparkles.

when you see your reflection in any mirror you pass, the trial begins. All at once you recall each bruise you carry, each wound you gave.

You start to fear yourself of who you are — you want to hide from your own eyes, terrifying at the person you see.

But how far can you flee? Mirrors line every wall, and every one of them sees you.

"I keep remembering the same thought, am i really the girl who I was a year, two years, three years ago, or in all the years before that.

And the answer remains the same — no."