Lost and Found in You

Just listened to SZA’s song,
And these lyrics broke me down:

"Runnin' away from where I'm from,
Never can stay with no one.
Lovin' you almost feels like something.
When no one's around me,
You lost and found me,
I was surrounded,
With open, open, open arms."

And now I can’t stop crying.
I remember you,
Still loving you,
Though we haven’t seen each other in months.
Is this true love?
Or just me being pathetic?

I can’t check your socials,
Can’t see your updates,
Can’t do anything,
Yet, still,
I’m wishing you all the best.

Comments

safe love

when you find your people, the air feels lighter, your heart rests softer, and every smile is true. you don’t have to measure your words, or hold your laughter in your chest. even in silence, you’re understood, and love grows quietly, endlessly. but love is not a prison. if your wings feel clipped, if your light is dimmed, if you fear to shine, then listen to your heart, and think again.

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.

a Different Kind of Poem

Not every poem wears the shape of love, some carry the weight of warmth unspoken, the echo of footsteps down quiet halls, the hush before dinner is served. Watched something last night, "1 Kakak 7 Ponakan", faces I didn’t know felt like mirrors. The way they laughed, argued, stayed, like they had nowhere else to be but with each other. It made me wonder, when was the last time I looked around and saw enough ? There are days this place feels too quiet. But maybe it’s not the silence that’s hollow, maybe I’ve just forgotten how full it really is. They say time spent is the only thing we never truly own. Some spend it on screens, some in rooms filled with laughter. Not everyone gets to choose. And me? I’ve been chasing loud things, forgetting that the softest hours, the ones spent doing nothing with people who’ve always been there, are the rarest kind. We search so far for what’s already sitting across the table.

unlimited words.

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