#beyondblankpages

big dreams.

they are different things, and they can coexist.

don’t let anyone steal your right to dream.

even if a dream stays a dream,

we can still dream.

you're doing good,

i'm doing good,

we're all doing good,

different things, but good.

you're doing good,

i'm doing good,

we're all doing good,

different things, but good.

“slow burn: a diary of quiet aches” isn’t a cure. It didn’t fix me — if anything, it opened even more scars as I wrote it. It doesn’t hand out fixes, unsolicited advice, or the kind, warm but useless “have you tried…?” suggestions we’ve all heard a thousand times.

what it is, though, is my heart on paper — raw and personal. reflections, reminders, and pieces of my journey with fibromyalgia.

most importantly, it’s a hand reaching out, a quiet voice whispering:

but guess the joke’s on me.

i forgot how much you like playing this cruel game.

the moment you came back,

i let my guard down —

accepting your return, your nonchalance,

acting as if you’d never left.

gaslight? no.

damned be those who even suggest it.

it’s all on me;

you didn’t leave, of course not —

you just show up when you please.

and i,

remain the fool

offering you this pleasure.

— beyondblankpages

There’s something about us that feels like an infinity symbol.

Two circles touching in the middle,

walking in opposite directions,

yet always meeting at the same point.

It looks romantic from far,

but when you’re living inside the loops,

you realise how lonely it is to only meet halfway.

So maybe what I really want

isn’t an infinity —

but a line.

One direction,

together,