A♡

And in that moment,

even miles apart,

even held back by fate,

we are not so distant after all.

Because the moon knows us both,

Quiet does not mean hollow.

Soft does not mean small.

Silence is not the absence of power —

I am stuck, without even the strength

To call your name,

Or beg you not to leave.

Because how many people must I beg

Am I losing you too?

I thought you were the one I’d never lose.

Yet here I stand,

At the threshold of another goodbye.

I am stuck, without even the strength

To call your name,

Or beg you not to leave.

Because how many people must I beg

Just to make them stay?

​I thought it was all real

The stories we wove,

The conversations that stretched until dusk,

The inside jokes, the shared songs,

The memories we built.

I thought it was all real.

​But now, the silence between us grows heavy,

A cold space where our laughter used to live.

I watch you drift away in slow motion,

Replaying every word, wondering where it went wrong,

As the warmth we had turns to ghost stories.

​But if it were truly real,

I wouldn't be standing here,

I want to be loved. Truly, deeply, endlessly. For once, I don’t want to be the only one giving, the only one holding on, the only one trying to make it work. I’m tired of being the one who loves too much, who feels too deeply, who hopes too hard. I want to be loved; loudly, proudly, without fear or hesitation. I want someone to choose me, not just once, but every day. To look at me the way I’ve always looked at others — like I’m a story worth reading a thousand times over.

I want the kind of love that’s raw and real, yet soft and tender. The kind that makes your heart ache in the best way possible. Old-school romance — the kind that’s built on patience and warmth, handwritten letters, and unspoken understanding. I want love that takes its time. Love that lingers in small gestures, in the way someone brushes my hair from my face, remembers how I take my tea, or holds my hand just a little tighter when words aren’t enough.

I want nights that stretch into dawn, filled with quiet conversations under a blanket of stars. I want laughter that spills into the air, the kind that makes your stomach hurt but your heart feel full. I want to cook together — messy, chaotic, filled with playful teasing and the smell of something burning in the oven. I want long drives with music turned up loud, singing off-key, wind in my hair, their hand resting in mine.

I want love that finds beauty in simplicity — in shared glances, in silence, in the way two souls can exist in the same space without needing to fill it with words. I want to cuddle and watch the moon from a quiet window, to dance in the rain with no reason except joy, to sit in comfortable silence and read together like we’ve done it our whole lives.

I want a love that feels like home; not perfect, but safe. A love that doesn’t demand I shrink or change to fit into it. I want someone who sees me, the real me, and still chooses to stay. I want a love that’s pure, gentle, and steady, one that holds me when I fall apart and celebrates me when I shine.

Dear Heart Of Mine.

Dear heart of mine,

Why must you wound me so?

You once beat in rhythm with my soul,

but now you feel like a stranger,

unrecognisable in the silence of my chest.

I was the only one who truly knew you,

yet you slip from my grasp,

turning into something I cannot name.

I no longer understand your desires,

your endless ache, your unspoken cries.

Why do you betray me with tears

when all I ever did was trust you?

Dear heart of mine,

tell me—

when did you stop being mine?

Was it the day you broke for someone else,

or the night you drowned in longing?

Did you lose yourself in the echoes of love,

or in the weight of unhealed scars?

You are both my prison and my compass,

leading me nowhere,

Oh! To have been a woman in the 1800s.

My biggest goal in life has always been to change someone’s life with my words. But sometimes I wonder—could I ever truly do that? Could my words ever carry that kind of weight?

At times, it feels like they don’t. Like they fall flat, stripped of the power to move anyone. I’ve watched people I care about do exactly what I begged them not to. I’ve spent countless hours trying to persuade, to comfort, to remind them of the light ahead. And yet, maybe they never wanted to be convinced. Or maybe my words were never strong enough. Did I waste my time? Or worse—did I waste theirs, offering truths that meant nothing to them?

These questions flood my mind over and over. And the answer is always the same: disappointment.

Because if I couldn’t convince a friend that life is worth living—that every moment is sacred—then what’s the point of my words at all?

A War You Can't See

I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,

I’m shaking, the world around me seems blurry.

I feel suffocated in my own skin,

Like I’m trapped inside a body that's turned against me.

My heart is racing, I can't speak, and I can’t hear anyone’s voice,

Just the loud echo of my own thoughts crashing.

I try to escape, but there's nowhere to go,

Every door in my mind feels locked.

I want to cry, but no tears come out,

Just this heavy ache behind my eyes.

I try to speak, but no sound comes out,

My voice is buried under the weight of invisible fear.

I want to breathe, but no air goes in,

Like the sky has collapsed inside my lungs.

My chest is tight like it’s caving in,

The silence screams louder than anything.

The walls are closing, even though I'm in the open,

I scream inside, but no one hears me.

Everyone sees me standing,

No one sees I’m sinking.

I thought I was fine, but I'm not.

I wear a smile, but it's just a mask,

A fragile thing holding back the storm.

And beneath it, day by day,

I’m breaking apart.

There’s a war in my head no one knows about,

And I'm tired of fighting battles I can't explain.

For once, I just want to breathe without it hurting.

And when Lorde said, “It feels so scary getting old,” It hit me hard.

Because what do you mean I turn 20 in a month?

That I’m no longer 9, waiting to go to double digits.

That I’m growing up and growing far from the people I love.

That school is over.

That before I know it, university will be too.

That I’m making more mistakes every day.

That I’ll have more to regret.

That every day I’m leaving a part of childhood behind.

That one day I won’t remember the scent of my childhood home.

That my old toys will sit in dusty boxes — untouched, unseen.

That one day my scars will suddenly look lighter than they always did.

That healing doesn’t mean forgetting, but forgetting still happens.

That my favourite boy band will just be a band people only know by name.

That the songs I once screamed in my room

will one day play quietly in the background of someone else's memory.

That my family will continue expanding,

but somehow in all the chaos, I’ll go farther from them.

That I’ll miss birthdays.

That I’ll miss people.

That I’ll miss versions of myself that no longer exist.

That I’ll find love, maybe even lose it.

That the first heartbreak won’t be the last.

That I’m growing up and growing far from the people I love.

That I’m still learning how to hold on while everything else keeps moving.

@stardustscribbles28

A Poem From Conrad Fisher's POV;

Why doesn’t she see it?

The love I carry for her.

Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.

Missing her feels like a hollow in my chest.

Like an ache I can feel physically.

She entered my heart — and never left.

Why doesn’t she read my eyes anymore?

She used to read them like a book.

Why doesn’t she remember infinity?

The promise to stay forever.

Why did she abandon me?

Like a tree shedding its leaves in autumn.

Why can’t she see it?

Unrequited

Why did we decide one-sided love isn’t real?

Maybe because it hurts too much to admit it is.

But the bitter truth is,

It might be the purest kind we’ll ever feel.

It's selfless:

A quiet prayer for their joy,

Even when you know you’ll never be part of it.

It’s loyal:

The kind of waiting that endures,

Even when hope begins to fade.

It’s kind:

Wishing them peace and light,

Knowing they’d never wish the same for you.

It’s loving them deeply,

Knowing they'll never love you too.

Unrequited love —

The most honest kind there is.

The softest ache,

And the most cruel.