unlimited words.

  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.

  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.

  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.

  and again, and again a heaviness I can’t quite name settles in my chest today. memories I’ve tried to bury rise like smoke, filling the room with things I wish I didn’t feel. I’m still here unable to move, held hostage by a fractured step. no walks, no runs, just silence and ceilings. I play songs to drown the quiet, edit videos that whisper old stories, some I’d rather forget, some that still sting. this aches in places I didn’t know could break. tell me, please that this will be my year. because it’s already June, and everything seems to be slipping, deeper into the grey.

  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.

  lately, I've been strangely happy— just seeing glimpses of you through your stories. you're becoming who you were always meant to be: the happiest, the coolest, the healthiest, all at once, and all without me. you didn’t reply to my last message. maybe it wasn’t worth replying. maybe I’m not. but still, I miss you in ways I can’t explain, in silences I try not to send again. I don’t want to bother you anymore. I’ve learned how to stay quiet and just…watch. watch your stories update, watch your TikTok bloom. Still, just so you know, I made a playlist about us. It lives here , quietly I don’t know if you’ll ever read my poems. but if you do, you’ll find me in every line that never got to be said out loud.

  That morning, I didn’t expect anything— then your message came, simple, kind, and somehow, it reached me right where I needed it. When I replied, I wasn’t trying to say much, just being honest— what you wrote meant more than you’d think. It was just a few words, a gesture, but lately, I’ve been missing you more than I want to admit. Life’s been heavy— I lost my job, I lost my rhythm, and worst of all, I lost the one thing that kept me grounded: movement. I can’t walk. Can’t run. Can’t do the small things that once kept my head above water. Someone once told me, “If they leave when you need them most, just close the door. And if they come back, don’t open it again.” But that’s not me. Not with you. I’ve never known how to love halfway— and I still don’t. So if one day, you need something real, something steady— my door’s still open. No pressure, no questions. Just knock. And thank you— for reminding me, even for a moment, that someone still sees me. <3