Sometimes I just look at him and…..

Sometimes I just look at him and wonder... how is he still loving me like this?

I annoy him. I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry; words that sting, that hurt and that shouldn’t be said. I can be sarcastic, sharp, even mean. Not in front of people, but when it's just us... I brush off his seriousness, roll my eyes when he explains things. I know I hurt him sometimes. Not intentionally, but carelessly. And yet… he's still here.

Still loving me.

Still holding my hand. Still making sure I’ve eaten. Still standing beside me- not just in good ones but even in sad and messy ones. Still sleeping on arguments, just to wake up and be the first to talk, the first to compromise. Still choosing “us” over winning. Every time.

I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of love.

No one’s ever loved me the way he does. So patiently, so completely. The kind of love that shows up every day — in the small things, in the quiet ways. In the way he sees me, even when I’m not at my best… and stays.

I used to think love had to be dramatic. One that should challenge me, keep me on my toes. But now, being with him, I’ve realised something softer, deeper; that real love is steady. It's safe. It forgives. It chooses you, again and again, even when you’re not easy to love.

He makes me feel like I’m enough. He completes me. Not because I’m lacking, but because of who I am. And somehow, just by being him, he’s made me better. More self-aware. More grateful. More in love with the life.

He’s not just mine. He’s my home. And that’s something I never want to lose.

When it Rains

Rain brings different memories to different people.
Some feel joy, others sadness.
Some sing heartbroken songs; some are haunted by guilt.
For some, the rain brings anxiety, for others, a quiet sense of being alone.

To a few, it’s a bright, beautiful thing.
To others, it’s gloomy and bitter.
Some welcome it like an old friend; some feel nothing at all.

For some, it’s just rain.
For some, it’s everything.
And for some… it’s something they never want to experience again.

As for me, rain brings a mix of memories — some painful, some beautiful.
But still, I love the sound of it, the earthy smell rising from the ground, and the way it makes me feel.
I love getting drenched, singing in it, dancing under it.
I let the rain fall over me and take it all in — as if, for a little while, it washes everything else away.

When it hurts, it hurts deeply..

I don’t even know how to start this, except to say—I feel deeply hurt right now.

There was a time, not long ago, when I truly believed I was surrounded by people who cared. People I could trust. People who saw me. I gave them the most honest parts of myself. I loved them with everything I had. I didn’t play games. I didn’t hold back. I showed up. Every time.

And now, it feels like it was all a lie.

The same people I stood by… turned cold. Distant. Even cruel. It’s like they were just waiting for the right moment to twist the knife. And what hurts the most isn’t just what they did—it’s that they could. That maybe they never really saw me at all.

I’m someone who feels deeply. I love hard. I care, even when it’s inconvenient. I’ve never been good at pretending or holding back. I’m a free soul, and I’ve never thought twice about giving that to others. But right now? That feels like a mistake.

It’s painful to realize that not everyone deserves the kind of heart I have. That some people only show up to take, to use, to hurt. And honestly, I don’t know what to do with that yet. I just know I’m tired. Sad. Betrayed.

Still, even in this mess of emotions, I know this: I won’t let their actions turn me bitter. I won’t become what they are. I might be broken today, but I’m not gone. I’m still here. Still me. And I’ll keep being real, even if it hurts sometimes.

Because I’d rather hurt from loving too much than live numb and guarded like they do.

The One Thing

He asked me if there’s something I’ve wanted to buy for a long time.

I said I don’t know.

He seemed surprised. "How can you not know? There must be something you’ve wanted for a long time."
I smiled faintly. But how do I even begin to explain?

How do I tell him that I grew up not knowing how to want things? That in my house, wishes weren’t made—they were swallowed. That we lived in scarcity, not desperation. We weren’t starving, but we were always aware of limits. Aware of what we couldn't afford—not just financially, but emotionally too.

I was truly happy for my friends when they got new toys, clothes, or gifts from their parents. But I never allowed myself to wish for the same. I knew better. I knew not to ask. I knew not to hope. I knew that money went to bills, to essentials, to just getting by.

New clothes came on festivals, not whims. Birthdays were burden. Money had purpose, and that purpose was always necessity.
And so, I learned to adjust. Not just to live without, but to not even want.

That skill—adjusting—became a way of life. I carried it into adulthood, quiet and unassuming. But beneath it, something built up. Suppressed longings, unspoken wishes, untended parts of myself.
Now, sometimes I buy impulsively—not out of greed, but from those old echoes. From the child in me who never got to choose. Some long-denied joy. Some permission I never gave myself as a child.

So when he asks me, so earnestly, what it is that I’ve always wanted to buy—

I pause and think about it.

Because truthfully, I don’t long for an object. Nothing shiny or wrapped or tagged in a price. I long for something I never had the chance to name back then.

If I had to answer honestly, I’d say:

It was love.

It was softness.

It was the space to want- without guilt.

And that’s something I knew you cannot buy.

Beyond patterns: What a true connection is.

You know, people like to explain things. Break them down into logic—patterns, instincts, choices.

They say connection is just about timing, chemistry, or the right combination of traits. Like it’s a formula. Like it’s something you can just turn on or turn off.

But the truth is... real connection doesn’t work like that.

It’s not found in a checklist. It’s felt—in the quiet, in the way someone looks at you when you’re not speaking. In how they stay when things get hard. In how they see you, even when you’re not at your best.

You don’t switch that kind of bond on. You don’t switch it off.

It either lives in you… or it doesn’t.

Funny how those who can’t hold love always blame the design.

I don’t just love you……..

I love the way you speak,

the way you see the world,
your thoughts, your dreams, the little truths you don’t even realise you show.
your smile—
that little dimple slips on your face when you grin.

I love your walk,

your silliness,

your thoughts,

your awkwardness,

your stillness,

your anger,

your care,

your irritation.

I love the way you help others,
the way you notice things others don’t.

I don’t just love you.
I love everything you do—
the pieces you hide, the ones you give freely.

And I love the version of myself that see all of this,
that notices,
that feels deeply.

I see every detail,
and I love wanting more of it.

I don’t just love you.
I love all of you,
with all of me.

It Was Never About The Big Things....

You know sometimes..... shattered dreams aren't dramatic. They don't come crashing down with noise. They just.... quietly slip away.

One by one.

Like wanting to go for a ride when it's raining. Just to feel something. But you don't, because even that feels like too much.

Or trying to eat something you used to love---- and realizing it doesn't taste like anything anymore. Not because it changed. You did.

Not having someone to talk to.. not someone just to chat with, but someone you can actually speak your mind to. No filters, no fear of being misunderstood. Just.... open. Honest.

And the future? It's like this blurry thing you're supposed to think about. But how do you talk about tomorrow when you can barely survive about today?

You see things once you wanted----your dream car, a house, even a small vacation---and all of it feels out of reach. Not because you're lazy or ungrateful. But because you're alone.

There's no one beside you saying, "We'll figure it out."

The thought of building a family.....it's not a dream anymore. It's a fear. What kind of world would you bring kids into when your own feels so unstable?

You can't enjoy a quiet evening because the voices doesn't stop in your mind. It keeps asking questions you don't have answers to.

And the worst part? When someone asks "What's wrong?"---you can't explain. Not because you don't want to but because you know they won't get it. They'll try. But they won't at the same time.

And when you do try to speak? You end up crying. Even when you didn't mean to. Even when you were just trying to be normal. 

People talk about big dreams like they're the goal. But sometimes, a dream is as simple as chasing a bug in the backyard..... smiling, for no reason.... just being okay.

That's all. That's the dream.