Nocturne

"Your life is yours. It doesn't belong to anyone else. I wanted to know what it would mean to live life on my own terms."

—Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Yagisawa

03:56

The devil couldn’t touch me, so he gave me a heart that feels too much and a mind that knows how to tear it apart.

The pain that comes from those we never thought could hurt us echoes longer than the joy they once brought to our hearts.

Maybe we never really wanted someone to have our back, we just didn’t want them to let us down.

Maybe that’s why I hold on to them so dearly. because words, when given with warmth, have a kind of immortality. They stay. They linger in the corners of memory, whispering softly, you were seen, you were loved, you were something beautiful to someone.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it? How people see you through the prism of their own affection how every name, every word, becomes a reflection of how you’ve touched their world. Each compliment feels like a tiny love letter written in a language only the soul understands. And when you give one, it’s like you’re planting a seed in someone’s heart. something that may bloom later, quietly, when they need it most.

I just love, love, love beautiful compliments. I love giving them, and I love receiving them. I’ve kept every lovely name I’ve ever been called, every tender word someone once said to me all carefully tucked away like little treasures. There’s something so undeniably heart-warming about being called by names that people have crafted just for you, shaped from the impression you’ve left upon their hearts. Someone might call you sun; another, sunflower. because to them, you shine, you’re warm, and you make the world around you glow. And someone else might call you moon; because you’re their silver light in the dark, a quiet, gentle presence that makes the night feel less lonely.