Wishing You The Best

It’s been fourteen days since we last talked,
I know you're not as sad as I am.

You’re out there, living, laughing,
While I’m here, always wishing you the best.

No matter how much it hurts me so deeply,
No matter how my best friend says you're not the one for me,
I can’t deny what I see in you:
A kind heart,
A quiet kindness,
A pure soul.

Yes, sometimes your emotions waver,
But they don’t change how I feel for you.

In the end, I know the truth:
No matter how hard I try,
I was never yours—
Even though you’ve always been theirs.

I wish you the best in everything:
In life, in love,
In whatever brings you happiness.

And if you ever need me,
I’ll still be here.
Perhaps it sounds poetic, even a bit melancholic,
But this is who I am—
Truly and purely.

Comments

Not Even Stay

Today, I just finished two seasons of Ginny & Georgia. and I don’t know, sometimes I feel like Ginny, sometimes I feel like Georgia. like a daughter, unseen, misunderstood, or a young mom, fighting silent battles just to protect the ones she loves. but you know what? at least Ginny had Marcus and Hunter. Hunter, who truly loved her. and Marcus, who knew her, stayed with her, saw the wreckage and still chose to stay. there was this scene, Ginny told Marcus she couldn't trust anyone, because Georgia, her own mother, once warned her: "Don’t trust anyone. Especially a man." but Marcus, broken in his own ways, held space for her pain, and chose not to walk away. and that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? I don’t have a Marcus or a Hunter. or even a Georgia. each day I wake up, facing everything alone, learning not to rely on anyone, not because I want to, but because every time I try to show who I really am, every time I open up even just a little, they all leave. Not even stay.

Saturn

one night, the sky turned gold, and silence felt like gravity, soft, invisible, inescapable. it told me; this too is part of becoming. i used to think home had walls. now I know it’s what lingers, like rings around a quiet planet. so I carry Saturn in my skin, not to escape, but to stay grounded while I learn how to float.

the kind of luck

not again, please.. not again. every time I watch a love story unfold, on screen, in ink, in the glow of moving frames, beyond the moral stitched between scenes, i wonder. how is it that every girl there is a universe of perfection? each one already paired with a man who speaks her storms, who reads her silence, who waits at the edge of her shadows with a lantern in hand? i mean, not every girl has that kind of luck. the kind where kindness is constant, where someone stays, not because she’s flawless, nobody is, but because he chooses her in every imperfect moment, no matter what comes.

unlimited words.

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