aestheart

»user @kcinzley she | her ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ 🌸 🐰

✧⁠◝ Kcinzley ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

of age, white-pink girlie, listener, yapper, milkisෆ!, matcha, med, music, aesthete, yearner, softie, catto♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠⑅⁠꒱, etc...

!¡ CONTENT ¡!

blogging

prose

music

yapping

“I Still Miss You”

I thought the ache had already left me,

that time had softened the space you once filled.

But tonight, when the world is supposed to be asleep,

I find myself carrying your memory again, Estelle.

It’s been almost a year since I lost you,

yet I still remember the warmth of your tiny weight

curling gently onto my lap,

the soft licks on my hand,

the quiet way you leaned into every touch

as if my affection was your favorite place to rest.

I miss how close you felt to me.

How every time I came home from school,

you’d be there first,

greeting me like I was the best part of your day.

And now the house still stands the same,

but some corners feel unbearably empty without you.

I didn’t realize a small creature

Music : Random Thoughts #1

"Today I Got So Much To Be Thankful For"

I don’t think about him anymore

not in the quiet pauses,

not in the spaces between my days.

There isn’t anyone else, either.

No soft crush I keep to myself,

no secret hope tucked behind a smile.

It’s just me now,

moving through my own life

ordinary, maybe,

I got to know him by accident,

between the lines of an assignment

that was never meant to be a doorway.

I only wanted to learn how to make a “Life Map,”

to understand the structure, the format—

but then he showed me his,

and somewhere between reading and breathing,

I realized I was no longer studying the task.

I was studying him.

It felt like trespassing—

like walking into a room where the lights were already on,

where memories lived quietly on the shelves.

It was too personal,

achingly personal.

Yet there I was,

learning about the child he used to be,

the home that shaped him,

the family that held him,

the roads he had already walked long before I arrived.

Does he know

that when he let me read his assignment,

he also let me read

My mama said love would make you dumb.

I used to laugh at that like, “Ma please, I have academic awards.” The confidence. The audacity. The FORESHADOWING.

Because the moment love tapped me on the shoulder, my brain packed its bags and left the group chat. Mothers know best, and mine deserves an apology letter and maybe financial compensation.

Love didn’t just make me dumb. Oh no. It broke my heart, ruined my focus, and turned me into a full-time clown with a part-time degree. I became a fool. A jester. The entertainment. Doing things I KNEW were wrong but still doing them like I was being paid.

Like writing a whole poetic masterpiece about him — HIM!!! — when I had a prelim exam to study for. Priorities? Missing. Academic weapon? Now a decorative display.

And don’t even get me started on camping on Facebook like I was a night-shift security guard, waiting for his story to appear. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Meanwhile, my pathophysiology assignment was in the corner gasping for air like, “Bestie… I’m due tomorrow…”

Hello to the boy whose heart is still learning how to mend. I am the unfortunate girl who stumbled into curiosity, who found herself wanting to know you—just a little, I told myself.

This is only a crush. A gentle one. The kind that blooms quietly when I see you pass by, when your name appears on my screen, when you watch my story and my heart forgets how to stay still.

You probably don’t know this, but the memory of you tapping my back when my heart was already aching has carved its place inside me. So has the way you walked toward me with gratitude in your eyes, and the kilig that lingered when our hands met during a game, brief—but enough to stay.

I am not assuming anything. I am not hoping to be chosen. I only wish for your healing.

I thought I had sworn to keep my heart in check every time, but one moment of weakness only led to another. My crying, pitiful heart found comfort in—him. And my fragile little heart had a funny way of tricking me into a booby trap. First, it told me I was just curious. Next, it urged me to get to know him. And before I knew it, my stupid heart was already swooning over—him.

’Twas his birthday, but unlike last year, I no longer had to prepare anything. Still, a part of me was itching to do something special—wanting to drop a hint that nothing had really changed, that it was still him.

But what changed?

The lover girl in me had grown too scared to show up, only to be disappointed in the end.

Why must it be you?

I no longer seek the answer—

I simply learn to live with it.

Yet sometimes, in the quiet hours,

I can’t help but wonder—

I Would Stay Forever If You Said, “Don’t Go.”

Well, I lied. Don’t blame me—I was young, and a fool. Foolish enough to call it love when the girl inside me was love-brained over something called infatuation. Foolish enough to call it forever, when in truth, it was the dumbest thing—and I would use a time turner just to spare myself from turning into a clown—oh, sorry, I meant a whole circus.

And in that circus, you were my audience. My only audience, who saw me as nothing more than your source of entertainment. Was it funny? Looking back, it must’ve hurt my innocent self to offer her fragile heart in exchange for your undivided attention.

"You don’t mind if I take my shot?"

Oh, I don’t very much—or do I?

“Well, yeah, go ahead,” I answered, feeling an ache in my chest. Weird. It shouldn’t feel that way. I forced a smile as I pushed her toward him, pretending to be completely supportive, without a hint of hesitation.

Oh boy, was I wrong—I regretted it. Deeply.

I wish I’d been honest. But I was a coward.

In Love. How does it feel to be in love?

The majority of people around me are drowning in love—not literally, of course—but love is definitely in the air. I don’t hate love; trust me when I say I don’t. In fact, I yearn for it. It’s not obvious, but I also want that connection.

“911”

I hate this feeling—no, scratch that—I hate not feeling anything, because right now I feel so numb. You know how I say I want to be gone, but deep down my heart aches for me to live—living, not just waking up and breathing. Living. I want that, but how? Can anyone please show me how? Just show me how.

How do I live the life that I want for myself when I'm stuck in circles? Stuck in this loop of pretending I'm perfectly okay, that I’m fine. But no, nothing’s fine. Absolutely not. I’ve been like this before; I know I’ll get through this again. Maybe I’ll find a safe house somehow to rescue me from this.