Unlimited in my brokenness

if it's a skill, there's rules you can learn

if it's an art, rules are not your concern

make it fucked up or you won't make it

if it's already broken, you can't break it

anything can be fixed with gorilla glue

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Everything I Couldn't Say

A slow-burn, trauma-informed love story about two young people learning how to stay.

🔸 small-town melancholy

🔸 protective but restrained male lead

🔸 love that doesn’t fix you — it stays while you heal

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hi! i’m kaya. 🌸

i write about the kind of softness that survives ruin.

sometimes it’s messy. sometimes it hurts. but it’s always real.

i wrote the first version of my book when i was nineteen - all instinct, too much heart, and not enough understanding of why people break the way they do. now i’m rewriting it the way it was always meant to be told: slower, deeper, more honest.

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What This Story Is

This isn’t a love story.

It’s survival.

It’s about two people who meet when everything is already falling apart — and what it means to choose each other anyway.

Not to be saved.

Not to be fixed.

Just… not to be alone.

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This Story Might Be For You If…

you miss the emotional fiction of the late 2000s / early 2010s Tumblr era

you love slow-burn, quiet devotion over grand gestures

you’re drawn to stories about trauma written gently, without spectacle

you believe love doesn’t fix you — it stays while you heal

you like boys who are soft in private and disciplined in public

you like girls who lie because the truth feels more dangerous

welcome. stay awhile. 🩷

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here you’ll find chapters, character thoughts, playlists, aesthetics, and the messy, tender universe i’ve been building for years. Find everything down below and under the tag #eics

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Everything I Couldn't Say:

Norah Bishop is the girl who came back different - polished, popular, and carrying a secret that won't stop bleeding. She's mastered the art of pretending: perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect smile. Anything to outrun the truth.

Daniel Cohen has been quiet his whole life. Not because he has nothing to say, but because no one ever listened. Not when it mattered. He's not looking to be saved - just to make it through without falling apart.

They're not supposed to matter to each other.

But they do.

In glances across classrooms. In conversations at 2 a.m. In the tiny moments no one else sees.

But some pasts don't stay buried.

Some pain doesn't play fair.

And love - no matter how much it aches to stay - can't always fix what was never safe to begin with.

But love doesn't save you. It stays with you.

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Content / Trigger Warnings:

This story contains themes of

childhood abuse (referenced, not graphic)

trauma and PTSD

medical emergencies and coma

blood / injury

grief, loss, and survivor’s guilt

emotional distress and dissociation

Please take care while reading 🤍

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Chapters 📝

Upload Status: 20 out of total 55 chapters

1. The Crack Beneath the Surface

2. The Silence That Follows

3. Shaking Hands with Ghosts

4. Almost Ordinary

5. Edges of Something New

6. What the Water Knows

7. Carrying Ghosts

8. Silent Wreckage

9. The Weight of Almost

10. Something Stupid Something Good

11. Almost Morning

12. What We Leave Behind

13. Pieces of a Night

14. The Art of Drowning

15. Tangled & Tired

16. Catch Me If You Can

17. Heavy with What We Didn't Say

18. Wrong Time, Wrong Place

19. Eight Years and an Exit

20. Someone Stayed

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Character Introduction 🎭

1. Norah Bishop

2. Daniel Cohen

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Stuff on Pinterest 📌

moodboard: ghosts that look like love

everything I couldn't say - bookcast

edits and aesthetic

norah bishop

Just- not for the reasons you may think.

There was a service dog team boarding the plane ahead of us. Normally I just give the usual ~6-10ft of space so we aren't crowding two dogs right next to each other when they need to work- but I noticed something. Her dog was fairly young, and while he was behaving he kept stopping to look behind so he could see us. She, however, didn't look around at all, just asked him what the problem was and to move forward. To which he complied, but then would stop and look at us again after a couple steps.

I called out that I was behind her with a service dog of my own, and that her dog was behaving but definitely distracted by mine, so if she would like I could give them more space. Initially she tried to say no, that wasn't necessary- but then her dog stopped to turn around again. She said that he was new, and that she hadn't expected him to be so unnerved by another dog.

We were the first two to board with a long line of people behind us. I told her no worries, take the time she needs, the plane won't leave without us and we're boarding with plenty of time to spare. That I noticed she didn't look around when her dog turned and recognized the style of harness and assumed she had a vision related disability and wanted to let her know what he was struggling with so she could adjust. That I would keep my distance so he could properly guide her onto the plane. I asked the people behind me to give us a moment so she could board safely. Everyone agreed to it- surprising at 5am and especially because the family immediately behind me had young children I could hear them teaching about what service dogs are- and equally called encouragements for her to go at her own pace.

She said as she walked with more confidence now that her dog was focused again, that she actually had no vision whatsoever and had just been placed with this dog to assist her via an organization.

She was able to board without further interruptions and then I let her know when I walked by her so she could make sure she understood her dog's reaction to mine. She thanked me for that, and for the assistance with boarding.

I waited until she was off the plane to gather my dog and my things.

But I wanted to talk about privilege- you see, while we both have a disability, mine affects me overall far less. It's a 100% fact that with testosterone, I barely have need for a service dog at all, and only bring one as a "just in case", similar to the cane I keep in my car that I haven't touched in a year. This woman is completely blind- her disability affects her in a much more immediate and drastic way.

As a more seasoned handler and team, I have more confidence to demand accessibility considerations. As a man, I'm more readily listened to. As someone with a large, dark colored dog- I even have the mythical "scary dog privilege" where her cute and friendly waggy lab might not. So when I say, give this lady space for her dog to do his job, as someone with a clearly marked, well behaved dog who can see what the problem is, those behind me stopped dead in their tracks and listened.

This is a social privilege in action. As a confident, cis-male-presenting, sighted person with a well behaved dog, this nervous blind woman struggling with her dog needed someone in her corner to advocate for her while she figured out what she needed to do to get her dog back on track.

My privilege over her in this moment is not an example of oppression. It could have been- had I not realized the issue and taken action to help, had I pushed past her, had I started heckling her about her dog's behavior or her own handling. But it is something that I don't need to consider in my everyday life- after all, I'm not the one totally reliant on a dog to tell me if my surroundings are safe, and my need for a dog is very small these days besides.

And- it's changeable.

During my bus trip with Creed back when I was more reliant on him, and he was still alive, I had several bus passengers pitch a fit about having to tolerate a dog on the bus. Despite his good behavior and his clearly marked vest, it was decided by several seats around me that his presence was a problem. Until an old white man in a wheelchair was put on the same bus, and yelled at them for being so intolerant.

I once caught an old white man as he stepped into the mall I was also entering to shop, and fell back against me while having a seizure. I stayed with him until paramedics arrived. I have no idea who he was. An older white woman interrupted AKC staff at a show they were harassing me about my service dog gear- she was a friend of a friend, though a stranger to me at that time. She died a few months later from complications of a lifelong addiction.

And I think this sort of situation is one that this website does not often consider. Between two under-privileged people, social privilege can change on a whim depending on context and the exact intersections at play for *all* involved.

"He asked you to shoot at people who weren’t shooting back,” growled Vimes, striding forward, “That makes him insane, wouldn’t you say?”

“They are throwing stones, Sarge,” said Colon.

“So? Stay out of range. They’ll get tired before we do."

- Night Watch

Odd thing, ain't it... you meet people one at a time, they seem decent, they got brains that work, and then they get together and you hear the voice of the people. And it snarls.

- Jingo

It always embarrassed Samuel Vimes when civilians tried to speak to him in what they thought was “policeman.” If it came to that, he hated thinking of them as civilians. What was a policeman, if not a civilian with a uniform and a badge? But they tended to use the term these days as a way of describing people who were not policemen. It was a dangerous habit: once policemen stopped being civilians the only other thing they could be was soldiers.

- Snuff

The poor devils. They thought a king would make them free.

- Feet of Clay

Beating people up in little rooms…he knew where that led. And if you did it for a good reason, you’d do it for a bad one. You couldn’t say “we’re the good guys” and do bad-guy things. Sometimes the watching watchman inside every good copper’s head could use an extra pair of eyes.

Same thing happened when I got into fighting. I got even stronger, and I got *fast*, man, and nimble, like a cat. Still chubby.

Body-building culture is a bunch of crap, my dude. Functional muscle is not necessarily toned or lean. You can be swole as hell and still be heavy. And that’s cool.

And every damn one of those huge shredded motherfuckers has the endurance of a fucking newborn puppy. Fifteen minutes into warmups and they’re panting for air like like they’re about to die. I’ve sparred them and every one of them telegraphs their moves about two weeks in advance, and are slower than my dead grandpa because their huge useless muscles get in the damn way. 

Now. I also work with a couple of guys who are not weightlifters. They do, however, do very physical jobs and are Big Dudes. Picture this sort of build. 

No abs to speak of, a bit of a tummy, and those motherfuckers can pick up one of the weightlifters and throw them. 

And they’re fast. Like, unfair fast. 

when harassment happens at work, people talk like it’s a clean decision stay and fight, or leave and heal. but it’s never that simple.

maybe you love the work. maybe you need the income. maybe it’s your dream job. maybe it’s just a job.

whatever your reasons - they’re yours. and whatever you decide, you deserve support.

you don’t have to prove how bad it was to justify leaving. you don’t have to be a martyr to justify staying.

it’s okay to weigh your career, your safety, your future, your peace. it’s okay to change your mind.

(17,400+ children)