“I Am Learning To Love The Sound Of My Feet Walking Away From Things Not Meant For Me.”

The Quiet Things We Never Say

In the hush between two heartbeats,

there lives a truth we all forget —

that love is not the grand parade,

but the quiet steps we never regret.

It’s in the hand that brushes yours

without needing a word or a name,

it’s in the eyes that stay awhile

when the world forgets your flame.

It’s not the fireworks or flawless lines,

nor promises wrapped in gold —

it’s the way we show up, soft and real,

when life turns silent, dark, and cold.

So if you’re reading this, just know:

You matter, wildly, more than you see.

You are the gentle thing in someone’s sky,

the reason their soul feels free.

Breathe. Be. Stay.

You are already the poem today.

“I don’t ask for forever — I just ask for real”

I don’t want promises painted gold at midnight only to peel by morning. I don’t crave fairytales that fall apart the moment reality touches them. I just want someone who looks me in the eyes and says — “I can’t guarantee always… but I can give you honesty. I can give you the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get messy. The kind that stays soft even when life turns hard.” I want real. I want the kind of connection that doesn’t vanish when I forget how to smile or when I show my scars instead of my skin. I want fingertips that trace not just my body, but my brokenness — and still choose to stay. Don’t promise me forever. Promise me presence. Promise me truth, even if it’s inconvenient. Promise me warmth that doesn’t run when I collapse at 2 AM. I don’t ask for perfect. I just ask for real. Because real is rare, and rare is enough to be everything.

“I apologize for loving like wildfire”

If I loved too loudly — forgive me. If I stayed too long in the corners of your mind where you never invited me, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to love politely. I don’t know how to knock first before entering hearts. I only know how to arrive barefoot, with poems under my tongue, with eternity in my palms, with the kind of tenderness that burns more than it soothes. I only know how to stay until the walls crumble, until secrets spill soft in the dark, until skin forgets every name except mine. I apologize for loving like wildfire — but darling, no one ever taught me how to be rain. So I set myself on fire and called it devotion. And maybe that’s why people ran even when they swore they wouldn’t. Because no one wants to be loved so much it makes them see themselves naked. Not just skin — but soul, bone, all the hidden places they buried long ago. I wasn’t here to break you. I was just here to love you completely. But sometimes even that is too much.

"i’d memorize you in ways you forgot you existed"

"i’d memorize you in ways you forgot you existed" by Astrum

i wouldn’t ask for permission to admire you — i’d just do it. quietly. thoroughly. like i was built to notice you and no one else.

i’d memorize the way your breath hitches when you’re almost smiling, the exact second your eyes soften when you let your guard down, and the curve of your lips when you almost say what you’re scared to feel.

i’d learn you like my favorite song — not rushed, but looped forever. until every sigh, every glance, every unspoken ache was part of my heartbeat.

and when you forget how rare you are, i’d whisper it against your neck, press it into your skin, etch it into your bones — until you remembered that being wanted never had to hurt.

so when words fail me, and there's no wind in my lungs

please know that you are it all

my salvation, my saviour, my grace

it hurts to be away from you

far more than unscrewed sharpeners ever can

— Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; "The Fear" (via lunamonchtuna)

I had so much love for you

But u never accepted it

It's still on the shelf of my living room

In a diary of our could haves and what ifs

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.