vashyrambles

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When someone leaves intentionally or not everything suddenly feels a little meaningless. And yet, you still love your life. You still wake up every day, do what’s needed of you, and move through your hours.

Sometimes I wonder why I even write.

What can mere words do, when real actions often fail?

But still, you try to make sense of things.

You pull yourself through the emptiness.

You search for meaning in places where it once existed, and in places where it never did.

You keep moving, not knowing whether any of it is right.

And maybe that’s the core of life that you never truly know. That at any moment, life can prove you powerless.

No matter how hard I try, I fail to let my guard down and let someone shower me with the love I know I deserve.

Everything I do has become an act a performance so practiced it feels real.

And how terrifying it is that I wear it so easily, like a second skin.

To peel it off would feel like an act of betrayal to myself.

half-finished lines.

I hide in plain sight

behind the very light that might liberate me.

What do I fear,

when everything I know is already ruins?

so I can stop my silent destruction

in my own rotten brain,

that just keeps flicking like a broken television,

playing the same scene again and again.

You, existing with yellow glitter covering you,

I, on my knees, eyes hypnotized by it.

And now these two flesh-marred marbles shine with tears,

Like a familiar scent,

I remember your absence ;

like the pages of my favorite book infused with it.

And when the wind seldom blows,

flicking through those very pages,

I am pulled to the present, brought to my knees,

My memories are dusted with cobwebs.

I dust them off, a thick layer falling away.

Some are paper-burned, so charred I can’t recognize them.

Why do my memories taste like corrosive ash; black and burned?

But is anything really a secret now?

Today, anything you write outside of a piece of paper isn’t one. We are surrounded by devices. They might not be spying on you, but they are storing everything — what you watch, your favorite pastimes, your thoughts, your writings. And whatever you store, is it really gone with just a delete button?

Convenience is everywhere — the ability to call someone far away, to text in real time and reach loved ones instantly. Our conversations and shared moments are no longer just words exchanged; they are stored, lingering, even if we try to erase them. It feels like a gift to keep them — but at what cost?

Because convenience comes at the cost of privacy. The system has evolved in a way that our privacy keeps shrinking. Sometimes we don’t even know when it’s breached. We may want to hide our secrets, but they are still out there in some void — unseen, yet never truly gone.

But here’s the irony: in reality, women often carry richer emotional friendships, and men are the ones struggling with loneliness. If the movies are to be believed, men should be thriving with their “ride-or-die bros.” Yet, we see the opposite the male loneliness epidemic.

Maybe that’s because cinema sells an ideal. Men are socialized to bond over doing things trips, sports, drinking but not always over emotions. So the “bro for life” we see on screen is more aspirational than real. Women, on the other hand, may not get those big-screen stories, but they’re socialized to share, express, and hold onto each other. They thrive in spaces where men often withdraw.

It’s so easy to wear this anger like a shield, an armor forged from the very arrows that pierced you.

But the armor grows heavy, crushing the arm that holds it.