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189
Some nights, I sit alone and wonder if the stars envy us — not because we shine brighter, but because we burn out slower. We fall, we break, we ache, yet somehow, we gather the scattered pieces and keep going. We live in a world that praises perfection, yet all we carry are cracks filled with stories. The moon changes, the tides shift, and we pretend we’re untouched by time. But deep down, we all know — silence isn’t peace, and stillness isn’t always calm. Maybe life isn't about becoming something new, but remembering who we were before the world told us who to be.
189
If I die...
Just remember, we didn’t get to live the way we hoped.
Not because we didn’t want to — but because life here didn’t let us.
We had dreams, like everyone else. Simple ones.
A safe home. A quiet morning. A future that felt possible.
But instead, we woke up to sirens, silence, dust.
We laughed less. We got older, too fast.
We carried things we never talked about.
If I die, don’t call it glory.
Just call it what it is:
Another life,
stopped too early,
in a place that forgot what peace looks like.
189
I wonder how many versions of myself I’ve buried in the name of growing up.
Pieces I had to let go of to be taken seriously, dreams I silenced to be realistic,
words I swallowed to keep the peace.
They say time shapes us,
but sometimes I think we shape ourselves to fit time.
And maybe that’s why we feel like strangers when we look in the mirror —
because who we are today is not always who we were meant to be,
but who we had to become.
