There is helplessness in not being able to fix things, yet relief in simply being a listening ear. There is ache in not being able to heal a loved one’s pain, yet peace in letting them know they are not alone. There is grief in not being able to show them the light, yet comfort in walking beside them through the darkness.

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Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is accept the apology that never came, and gently tend to your own heart. Because waiting for closure often only keeps the wound open.

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I don't wish to be the brightest star, I wish to be the small one that occasionally goes dim but never stops flickering. Like the lone wildflower by the roadside, not part of a bouquet, but still in full bloom. Like the hum of a ceiling fan steady, unnoticed, yet comforting. Like the softest wave in the sea never crashing, but gently coming home. Like a whisper carried by the wind, not loud but familiar.

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That’s the thing about normalcy. It exists quietly, like an unnoticed privilege. We rarely pause to appreciate it. But the moment it slips away, we realise just how gentle, precious, and full of peace it truly was.

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Aren’t we all quietly torn between two opposing desires, the need to hide our wounds from the world, and the silent hope that someone will notice them anyway? That without us saying a word, someone will see through the smiles, the silences, and gently tend to the parts of us that ache.

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Overthinkers are a little strange. They can lose sleep over a slight shift in someone’s tone, an unanswered text, or one less emoji than usual, things that seem trivial to others but feel like a big deal to them. Yet, this very sensitivity makes them deeply empathetic. They hold hearts with care, speak with kindness, and tread gently so their actions never wound. To feel so deeply is both a gift and a burden.

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Its okay to need a little reassurance and validation sometimes. You aren't being clingy or needy, you're just being human. We all have moments when we long to feel seen, heard, and gently held.

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How do I explain the solace that I find in words, in flowers, in the sky, in the sweet gift of solitude. No its not that I despise connection, I love the sense of belonging I feel with my people. But I love the peace, the freedom and joy of just being.

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One of the saddest things to witness is someone losing their spark. Smiles fading, laughter growing quiet, their beautiful weirdness slowly dimming. You watch as the light that once made them who they are begins to flicker under the weight of life.

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Aren’t warm memories a kind of privilege? Gentle reminders that we’ve lived moments so wholesome, so full, they invite us to revisit them. Whether by flipping through old pictures, scribbling them into words, or simply closing our eyes and finding ourselves back there, with our people. Isn’t it beautiful, how life gifts us these fleeting pockets of time when our hearts were brimming with joy?

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