with love, always…

i. My Love is an Ocean #love ii. For Jane with Love #j  iii. Girlhood Daydreams #girlhood iv. Coffee Cups with My Angel #a v. Silly Little Proustian Moments #imy vi. Haikus to La Lune #moon vii. Musings on Bookmarked Pages #books viii. Nature and Sensation #sensations ix. Bonfires and Wine Nights #wine x. White Coat Chronicles #labs xi. Hello, Poetry My Old Friend #poetry xii. Film Reel Nostalgia #film xiii. A Life to Remember #hope xiv. For the Love of the Game #play xv. Sweet Things and Nothings #sweet

She is the art, poetry, and the softest melody prophesied. She is the moon conquering the night as gracefully as the sun in the daylight. She blooms like the flowers in the vast garden of desire. Divine beauty, love, and mind personified. And hers is the king who met her with certainty, led her with unwavering hope, fought with her through the sunsets and the storms, and remained faithful to her book, like it was his home.

she is me, from 𑣲𝓳ane with love, always

If I were the moon, I’d like you to be my night.

I'm sorry...it just seems like we couldn't love each other the way we wanted to be loved, and I think that's neither our fault. We tried, though, we really did...we wouldn't have gone this far if we didn't. You couldn't make me feel wanted when I needed it most, and I couldn't understand you, no matter how much I tried. We end up hurting each other even without meaning to. Is it too late to try? Are we too broken to start all over again? This was our great war; the worst is over.

Mars, Jupiter, and —

the moon smiles at her tonight,

so brave and willing.

"I always felt like… if I stayed in one place too long… everyone would see that I’m too much. Even you. So one week a year with you… it was safe. It’s all that I thought that I could have. But I love you. I’m always gonna love you."

"I spent most of my life looking for somewhere I belonged. And believe me, I searched everywhere. But it’s a thin line between searching and running away. So after all my searching, this is what I’ve learned. Home is where you can be entirely yourself. In fact, home doesn’t have to be a place at all. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do. When you’re with the person who loves you for you… you’re always home. Even on vacation."

— Poppy, People We Meet On Vacation (2026) Directed by Brett Haley

Even in darkness

I exist solemnly and

quietly waiting.

Found you.

Something about anger feels like madness to a fault. Could I ever be allowed to scream at people long after I've cried on my pillows? What is my temper but a savage passion eating me up every time someone pulls at every thread. Am I anger in the shape of a puppet, at the mercy of this puppeteer?

My smiles were never rehearsed, my contemptuous tongue used to speak in verses but never hate. I was trained to carry my rage politely all my life. Half-regret turns to anger when it starts questioning the whys and hows, I remembered everything, isn’t anger a sign of boundaries crossed. And you walked through it back and forth. I never had the tolerance for betrayal. And yet it keeps doing it like a second nature. You never had the gentle palms to hold my storms. You were as jagged in the same places as mine. You weren’t the strong man I once thought you were. And I am not bulletproof to your offenses either. If our lies were bricks, we would have made a temple of the gods of betrayal, the Egyptians would shy away the way we’ve kept this up for so long. We were so good until we weren’t, until we were both hurt.

And the worst of it all is that I will never know. Were you hurt in the same places as mine? Did you regret everything you said? Did you curse your own tongue and your habit of nonchalance? Did it start hitting you a week later only to realize you were waiting for an apology that will never come? I rarely get over my anger as easily as I would my melancholy. And I couldn’t look at you without hating myself.

I was never bitter until you started feeding me love that was forced to ripe because we were running out of time, it made my tongue numb and apathetic. I was never quick to my rage until your love felt like a lie, a semblance of sunset on the beach, but never the real thing. Your words started tasting like poison when they’re begging for me. It knocked me out of my rose-coloured glasses, and I see you for who you are. Your life is riddled with your impoverished ways of coping, the high chair of your doom and despair, you are the character in a book you read two years ago, just as strange and pathetic, and ultimately helpless in his own words. The worst thing about playing pretend is that when the curtain falls off, you were never interesting after all. And I was the fool who loved a man for his potential. I look back without a stop and regret you in every step, all the time. Where was the man I loved? Who was the man who kept me sane? Where is the gentle man and his patient ways? Who were you before your fears took over and you started holding back? Did I lose you somewhere along the chase for our nonexistent future? Did you change your mind when the going started getting rough? Where is the man that I loved? Please bring back the man that I loved.

Pick up where we left

the memory trails

just like the very first time.

I wish I didn’t have to keep starting over and over again. It’s been exponentially difficult moving forward when I’m rough around the edges now. But otherwise still a clean slate. I wish things turned out differently, I wish endings weren’t finite. They say the only way of becoming is to meet the deepest and darkest part of your soul, it’s to sit with your uncomfortable truths, it’s to honor who you are despite your mistakes. And giving that same grace to someone else. Zadie Smith said, "I think the hardest thing for anyone is accepting that other people are as real as you are.” The good and the bad, they all make up our jagged but otherwise interesting personalities and life is a paradox you have to live through. But on some days, if you’re lucky enough, you get to decide to carry the good things with you, the joyful bits and the sweet memories. Isn’t that wonderful? “Isn’t it wonderful that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” just like how Anne used to say.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

— Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Even with this light

You couldn’t be what I need

isn’t that tragic?

Call me Turtwig the way I’ll be in my room, making no noise, making sprout 🌱 crochet for my headphones, and pretending that I don’t exist.

Stay alight longer,

I wouldn’t have it this way,

my lovely moonshine.

“I’m writing my diary.”

“I’ve never had a diary. What’s it like?”

“It’s alright. I’ve started writing since I was 12/13 and I’m in my 20s now. I’ve never had many friends as a kid so I just talk to myself.”

“Does it alleviate any stress or is just routinely for you?”

“Good question ! When you do it every day, it becomes a routine but it also encourages me to do a lot of things, do side quests so I could write interesting things and well, remember memories too! It alleviate stress in a way that I don’t need to bother anyone with my rantings lol”

“Just letting your worries, experience and what not get written away in a paper for you to reflect back another time and remember the memories sounds like a good thing.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Ah, like a checklist and a bucketlist. How productively effective. Your “rants” aren’t bothersome-to me at least.”

“Righttt, writing everyday reminds me in a way that there’s always something to write no matter how mundane the day looks like and well everything passes anyway.”

“What ever will you do with it when your life’s journey is completed?”

“I want them burned all of them. There will come a time when no one will be alive to remember all of us anyways.”

“While true but not indefinite, why burn them with that notion in mind?”

“Maybe because it’s too personal to leave in a place that no longer hold me, I want to leave everything with me not behind.”

“The good side is that, those who lived the life alongside you will always cherish you, your friends, and whoever that holds people close.”

“My friend calls us humans “alongside creatures” we really do grow and experience life with others, no one can be said to be truly alone when we are always witnessed but not in a panopticon kind of way, just witnessed in some shape or form.”

Went to UP Sunken Garden and checked in on my other life, with Zadie Smith’s Grand Union Stories in one hand, while holding faith in the other.