Some things are just not worth fighting for.
There’s a moment—sharp and clear—when “enough” is no longer a warning but a wall. You reach it, you feel it, and you know the choice is here: save them or save yourself.
Always save yourself.
Stop listening to the negative voices. Sometimes they crawl inside, weaving their way through the cracks, speaking in your own tone until you can’t tell where they end and you begin. They’ll convince you to turn back, to answer the call, to give one more piece of yourself away. But I’ve learned—sometimes the echo isn’t worth chasing.
You were the passenger in my dream last night. Serious face. Watching me as if you had something meaningful to say but couldn’t quite let it out. When I swerved and nearly hit the car, you laughed. And I laughed too—not because it was funny, but because you knew. When you know, you know.
I’m not coming back here for you this time.
Even from a million miles away, I can still feel you—the thread between us, the spark that catches instantly, that impossible recognition like finally finding home. A place inside you or you inside me. But some homes are meant to be visited only in memory.
The mirror doesn’t lie.
In your childishness, you tell me all about you, forgetting to ask about me. And it’s then I know: you’re not there yet. You still can’t see past yourself. So I pretend not to notice when you’re in the same building. You hide in plain sight, wanting to be seen but not really seen. And I force myself not to look—not to acknowledge what I already know to be true.
I am the mystery to you that no one can name. The curiosity that cannot be understood. Always just within your reach, if only you remembered the number. But it’s blocked for a reason.
I want to see this thing through—to defy the odds, to go to places those before me could never touch. I’ve already broken through to the other side. I can hear them cheering, those who once called me the darkness. The fallen one. The one who could not be saved.
And yet here I am, saving them—from themselves, from the weight of what they’ve done.
You call me as if you know who I am. As if you can see me. You want to dance in my darkness, to hear the secrets behind the locked door. But I will never tell them to a stranger.
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