Sage   (Aylin)
2.7k Followers · 120 Following

Author.
Joined 15 May 2019


Author.
Joined 15 May 2019
53 MINUTES AGO

Child: "Because I realized—back then when I was a small kid, I thought you were just helping with glue and glitter... but now I see you were stitching stars into my sky."

Mother: "Oh sweetheart… I just wanted to make sure your dreams had a map. Even if I had to stay lost a little while longer."

Child: "You never seemed lost to me. You were the compass—quiet, constant, and kind—while I spun like a weather vane in the wind."

Mother: "And now look at you—
strong and soaring. Just don’t
forget: even the tallest tree
was once a trembling twig,
held steady by someone’s hands."

-


6 HOURS AGO

Beneath silence, frost fastens
its memory tight.
Some hands hold on, even
when heat forgets.
//Captioned//

-


9 HOURS AGO

Soft Architecture

Mother
mends morning
with unmapped light—
a stillness sculpted from
motion.

-


YESTERDAY AT 16:53

Humanity limns
its glyphs on collapsing stars—
a kindness shaped flame,
flickering in the syntax
between ruin and rebirth.

We are the myth inked
on the parchment of no god,
yet we still unfold.

-


YESTERDAY AT 16:14

~To exist is not a performance.
To be authentic is an act
of rebellion.
And today, I rebel with grace.~
//Captioned//

-


9 MAY AT 18:08

When the heart confuses
ruin for reason,
even constellations end up

-


8 MAY AT 14:40

"Know what?"

"That I touched it."

"Because it’s glowing, humming, and now my cat is floating."

"Maybe the cat finally reached enlightenment."

"Maybe you’ll reach unemployment when Mom hears you turned Grandpa’s urn into a lava lamp."

"...Well, at least he finally lights up a room."

-


8 MAY AT 12:43


~It was perched like a plot twist—
squat, smug, and sinister. She, a
curator of silences and socked feet,
eyed it like an unsolicited emotion.~
//Captioned//

-


7 MAY AT 22:55

•Drafted Light•


but silence draws the curtains.
What enters is not always sky—
sometimes, it’s the ache of staying.

Time stains the floor
where memory knelt,
a shadow pretending
not to shake.

Grief rehearses its script
in language no longer spoken.
Even breath,
once fluent, forgets its name.

No one knocks.
The light leaves
on tiptoe.

-


7 MAY AT 19:02

stood shivering, offering
it to a weeping soul who
whispered, “Wrap me in
something the dark won’t
steal.”
//Captioned//

-


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