Ways I Show A Character Is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

i raise it, hold it in front of me. show you, through someone else, a peek inside myself. a keen eye can see through it—but cutting words glance off at an angle. it's not me, just a reflection. and isn't that the point? vulnerability, by proxy. i trust you not to hurt me as far as i can reach into the mirror.

Don't Leave Me

Facial Expressions & Emotional Micro-Reactions for Writers

(For those subtle moments when “he frowned” just isn’t enough.)

Tight-lipped — Mouth pressed closed, often from restraint, anxiety, or irritation. Jaw clenched — Tension from anger, fear, or self-control. Eyes narrowed — Suspicion, doubt, or intense focus. Brow furrowed — Confusion, concern, or frustration. Lip twitching — On the edge of a smile… or a snarl. Eye roll — Dismissiveness, annoyance, or teenage energy. Lip biting — Anxiety, hesitation, or suppressed emotion. Nose scrunch — Disgust, confusion, or mild sass. Blinking too fast — Shock, overwhelm, or trying not to cry. Staring blankly — Dissociation, distraction, or emotional overload. Smirking — Confidence, mischief, or sarcasm. Avoiding eye contact — Shame, discomfort, or guilt. Looking down quickly — Vulnerability, embarrassment, or attraction. Shoulders rising slightly — Insecurity, fear, or defensiveness. Forced smile — Pretending, hiding, or surviving the moment.

It's not about how long you've known someone, but about who walked into your life, said 'I'm here for you,' and proved it."

Yours Astrum.

If You Were a Poem

By Astrum

If you were a poem,

I would read you in whispers under candlelight,

tracing every syllable like a secret I was never meant to know.

Your laughter would be italicized,

soft and leaning into the edges of midnight.

Your sorrows?

Those would be bold —

unafraid, unapologetically beautiful.

I would fold you into the corners of my journals,

tuck you beneath my breath,

and let no one but the moon know

how deeply I have memorized your lines.

You are the poem I never dared to write,

and yet somehow,

I’ve been reading you all my life.

Paint

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Dabbing his brush in paint,

Sweeping all his worries away.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A careful mix of colours and hues,

A careful tinge of another shade,

A story that never fades.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A bleak landscape of monochromes,

So very little tint,

A figure standing all alone.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

Lush green landscapes,

So very simple,

A doorway to escape.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Painting a scene so lovely,

Whose model is as sweet as honey.

"When a man loves like wildfire" By Astrum

i do not love like petals and poetry, i love like wildfires and earthquakes— the kind of love that cracks your ribs just to make room for my name. i am not soft, i am raw. when i touch you, i mean to carve my presence into the marrow of your bones, so even if the stars forget our names, your body remembers mine. i don’t promise forever — i promise depth. the kind of depth where you drown willingly, smiling as my chaos becomes your oxygen. come close, closer— until you realize you were never made for shallow touches. you were crafted for a love that leaves fingerprints on your soul. and baby, i have never known how to touch without leaving marks. — i love like wildfire. and you were born to burn.

“come closer, but don’t flinch”

> come closer, but don’t flinch when you see the places I’ve bled quietly. I am not soft in the way you expect — I am soft like wildfire, like midnight rain that forgets to be gentle. I love like this: with cracked palms, shaking breath, and a heart too heavy to float but too stubborn to drown. if you want me, know this: I won’t promise easy, but I will promise real. raw fingertips. unhidden scars. midnight confessions no one else has ever touched. come closer. and if you stay— I’ll hand you everything I’ve ever buried under my ribs.

About Me: -

HI ! I'm Astrum, 41 Aries, and I go by he/him pronouns. I like all things art/culture: music, film, painting, poetry, fashion, literature, so feel free to ask about anything of the sorts, I'd love the chat!! I listen to all kinds of music mostly jazz, folk, classic rock, or anything pre-2010s so feel free to ask about anything like that i LOVE the beatless, like seriously it's insane! I enjoy writing letters, notes, poems, as I believe everything is poetry if it comes from the soul I love hiking/camping, long drives, Parties, and other outdoor activities as well I enjoy reading fantasy and romantic fantasy books. My favorite book that I've read recently was The Cruel Prince by Holly Black. My favorite trope is enemies to lovers (I like the idea of someone seeing all my flaws first and still managing to fall in love with me. I also just love the banter between the enemies). My favorite colors are wight, wine red, blue, black, olive, I like all types of wines. I want friends, you are my lifeline, and I do have a lot of things that I enjoy.

let's observe with mama