im.scribblingover

My love, I was listening to this song tonight, and somewhere between the chords and the quiet, I thought of you. Of us. Of the way I wish I could love you without leaving ripples in your calm. You deserve mornings wrapped in stillness, a love that doesn’t come with storms, a hand to hold without the weight of uncertainty. But loving me— it’s never been simple, has it? There is something restless in me, a shadow I cannot outrun, a tide that pulls me back even when I want to stay. I have never known how to exist without bracing for the fall, without waiting for the rain to come. But you— you stand like sunlight, steady and unshaken, and I wonder if I am only darkening your sky.   Still, I would fight for you. I would meet you where the fire burns hottest, walk beside you through the wreckage, give you my wild, my quiet, my name, my life. I would choose you in every world, in every lifetime, in every version of myself.   But I cannot give you peace. And I ache wondering— is love ...

At the same time last year, I was surprised by the guy I was dating with a bouquet of my favorite flowers, tulips. He filmed the moment, hoping to wake me up early in the morning with Alicia Keys’   If I Ain’t Got You   playing softly in the background. But my sleepy self was too stubborn, and his plan didn’t go as expected. Still, it made me feel special. I thought I would be celebrating every Valentine’s Day with him. Until he decided he no longer wanted to be with me.   It shattered me. The pain was unbearable. I felt like I had lost not just him but also the version of myself that once believed in forever. I replayed memories in my head, wondering where things went wrong, wondering why I wasn't enough.   But heartbreak, no matter how brutal, isn’t the end. It forces you to confront yourself, to sit with the emptiness, and decide what to fill it with.   So, what does it mean to love oneself?   It means allowing yourself to grieve but refusing to stay in ...

  Dear You, I thought of writing you a handwritten letter today. To ask how you’ve been, how your days have been lately. To tell you that I still wonder if you’re doing okay, If the weight on your shoulders has lessened, If life has been kinder to you since you left. But I hesitate, Because I know you are no longer looking for my comfort. And maybe, that’s okay. Still, there are things I need to say, even if you never hear them. I’m sorry. For the things I did and didn’t do. For the words I said and the ones I left unspoken. For not realizing that maybe, in ways I didn’t see, I was part of the reason you let go. You walked away, From all that we had, From all that we could have been. And though I may never understand fully why, I know I have to accept it. But please know this: I appreciate you. For all that you were to me, For all that you are, For all that you will become. I miss you. I have missed you. Maybe I always will. And no matter where life takes you, Even from afar, I wil...

  I gave you my heart, steady and sure, but you placed it in trembling hands, telling me I deserved more, telling me you could not be the man I needed as if love was a question of worth, as if I had asked for anything more than you.   Now, I watch from the edges of what we were, a silent witness to your new beginnings. You follow shadows of a love before me, and she, with open arms, welcomes you back like I was never a pause in your story, just a chapter that never made it to print.   And it aches not just in the loss of you, but in the quiet realization that I was ready to build a future you never saw. That you are moving on while I am still sifting through the rubble of what I thought we could be.   But maybe love is not about being chosen, not about waiting for steady hands to hold us. Yet still, I wait through the quiet ache of missing you, through the prayers whispered into the night. I cry to the Lord, asking, pleading, to bring you back to me, to make a way. ...

Too many words, too many rules They told me to stay silent, To let him feel my absence, To make him realize what he had lost.   But no, I beg to differ. Our love was never like theirs. I know what we had, And I know it was real.   So, I reached out. A simple message "How are you?" And luckily, He is okay.   I can feel it in his words, In the space between them He is happy. Happier, even.   And somehow, that’s enough. The weight in my chest eases, The darkness lifts. He is happy. And so am I.   Now, I can go. I will be moving forward.

Let go, they say, like it’s a feather in the wind, like it’s easy to forget where I’ve been. Like my hands weren’t built to hold, clutching echoes of stories untold. Let go, they say, as if time rewinds, as if memories fade on their own designs. But roots run deep in the cracks of my soul, and breaking free never felt whole. Let go, they say, with voices light, but they don’t see my endless fight the weight of love, the ache of loss, the quiet wars, the heavy cost. Yet maybe letting go is not release, but learning to carry things with peace. Not a fall, not a farewell, but a whisper saying   all is well.