“We outgrow people the same way stars abandon light—quietly, irreversibly.” There’s a strange kind of grief that doesn’t come with funerals or heartbreak songs. It just settles in—quietly, like dust on a shelf no one touches anymore. It begins when conversations feel forced, when silences grow louder than shared laughter used to be. No fight. No betrayal. Just… stretch. Distance. A slow fade of alignment. You try to ignore it. You meet up, talk about safe things—weather, shows, work. But you feel it in your body, don’t you? The gentle pull away. Not because you stopped loving them, but because you stopped recognizing yourself in the reflection of their eyes. They stayed where you left them. Or maybe you were the one who drifted off-course. Either way, the shapes no longer fit. The same jokes don’t land. The same stories feel like reruns. Nostalgia becomes the last thing holding the room together. You want to say something—but there’s nothing cruel to say. Because they didn’t do anyt...
I dwell in the spaces where shadows meet light, where questions outnumber answers. A seeker of truths buried deep, I write to unearth what lies beneath the surface. In the chaos, I find my voice. In the silence, I find myself.