in rooms where silence breaths and candlelight listens, she writes—

between sips of bitter coffee, beneath the weight of unread pages, with ink-stained fingers and a quiet mind full of noise.

this is where thoughts turns to metaphors, and solitude feels like a soft companion.

© sasha★. | all rights and reserved

do not copy or redistribute without permission

09/01/2022

You sat with empty hands, and envied mine for being full. Played the victim like it paid rent, while eyeing my every move. Called yourself “lost” but followed my footprints like a thief in silk. You wanted the crown without bleeding for it — So you wept, hoping the world would hand you what I earned. But here’s the truth: you never wanted to grow. You just wanted to steal my light and call it your own.

Everyone's in a race I never signed up for. Productivity, Progress, Proof.

i blink and someone's mastered five skills, launched a business, and healed their inner child.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to breathe without guilt.

No one teaches you how to be yourself — they just hand you a checklist and call it a personality.

I'm tired, Not of doing things, but of pretending I'm fine.

16th April, 2025.

18th April, 2025.

We grow up watching reflections that aren't ours. Filters smooth our skin, Captions script our feelings, and somewhere along the scroll, we forget how to exist without performing.

Social media teaches us to envy lives we’ve never lived, to doubt a face without edits, to crave applause for simply breathing.

Insecurity isn't loud anymore—it’s soft, stylish, and always online. We smile for pixels, cry in drafts, and call it healing.

But no one warns you that being seen by everyone can still feel like being invisible.

And sometimes, we miss the version of ourselves that didn’t need to compete to feel real.

© sasha★. | all rights and reserved

do not copy or redistribute without permission

1. 🩰🕯️

2. ⌛🍂.

3. 💋🦢

4. 🕰️📜.

5. 🧠🗣️.

6. 💔🍂

7. ❤️‍🩹🥀.

8. 🫂🤎.

9. 🫀🪐.

10. 🎞️🔗.

11. 🌟✨.

12. 🤎📖.

she wears the moon like a secret

hiding her shine in shadows

soft-spoken storms brewing

under ribcages made of rose petals

she feels too much,

loves too deeply—

and yet, the world never learns

how to hold her gently

they break her and

she still offers the glue

kindness stitched in trembling hands

and trust she gives like truth

but if only she could see—

how rare it is

to hold a heart that

still believes in light

even after being shattered

she is not fragile,

she is art

too precious for the ones

who never looked close enough

for the softest soul I know @coolhottubgiverko 💗.

© sasha★. | all rights reserved

do not copy or redistribute without permission

original content created by @dollette-blog