The world is wide. The sky is wider. And for the first time, I do not need another name written beside mine to make the stars look beautiful. I look up, and the heavens are already enough. So am I.
I Do Not Need Another Name
As the Pendulum Swings
I hated your absenceuntil I learned to live by it—to chart my nights around the vacancywhere your star had once burned,to call the darkness by another nameand mistake the quietfor the shape of healing. I built my peace slowly. Stone by stone,I made a small universe of myself—hung new constellationswhere your light used to be,learned... Continue Reading →
Ephemeris of a Returning Star
You left to seek a quieter sky,to chart your course beyond the reachof our old gravity.And when you vanished,the heavens inside me collapsed—constellations broke apart,their silver lines unthreaded,their names forgotten by the night. For a while,I wandered among the ruins of stars,gathering fragments of myselflike fallen meteors from dark fields.One by one,I placed them back... Continue Reading →
The Lamplighter’s Little Planet
There was once a boywho lived on a very small planet. It was not a remarkable planet.There were no mountains,no seas, no kingdoms. Only a little house,a little garden,and one lampthat he lit every evening. The boy had once believedthat a planet needed another personto make it worth living on. He had been wrong. After... Continue Reading →
Before I Ask the Stars for Another Name
I am not waiting for love. I am learning how to stop mistakinga lighthouse for a harbor. For years, I chased constellationswith a compass that spunwhenever lonelinesspretended to be north. I called every familiar ache destiny.Every storm, a sign that I was sailingtoward someone. But the sea does not rewardthose who confuse survivalwith arrival. So... Continue Reading →
Learning to Begin Again Without Shame
I used to think starting over was something people did in their twenties. Back then, reinvention looked cinematic in my head. A new city. A dramatic goodbye. A montage set to hopeful music. Something decisive enough to divide a life cleanly into before and after. But real beginnings, I’ve learned, are much quieter than that.... Continue Reading →
The Year I Stopped Romanticizing My Suffering
There is a quiet kind of strength in no longer needing your life to hurt in order for it to feel meaningful. And maybe adulthood, at its gentlest form, is simply this: Learning that peace is not emptiness. It is safety. It is enoughness. It is finally being able to sit in a quiet room without feeling the need to destroy yourself just to hear something louder.
Orbiting Around What Remains
I used to think pain was the only honest thing I could write about. Heartbreak made everything louder. Songs sounded deeper. Nights felt longer. Even silence had weight to it. There was always something to bleed onto paper—someone to miss, something to regret, some version of myself standing in the ruins of almost. And maybe... Continue Reading →
After the Season You Chose
You left, and for a whilemy sky forgot how to arrange its stars—not shattered, not ending,just unlearning your orbit. There was a night that lingered too long,where even constellations felt like memory,and I, small beneath them,mistook darkness for permanence. But even night obeys a deeper law—Eos still rises, no matter how longNyx holds the horizon... Continue Reading →
The Aftercolor of You
You are everywherethe color yellow decides to stay. Not in grand places—not in the cathedral light of stained glassor the pages of old love letters— but in the small, forgettable cornerswhere the world does not expect memory. Morning begins with you. The sunrise arrives quietlythrough the blinds,spilling that thin yellowacross the floorboards. It spreads the... Continue Reading →
