This is my last message to you.

I typed this in the morning but didn’t send it—maybe I was afraid. I had a dream... no, more like a nightmare that felt too real to ignore. I was in the same mall in BBSR, alone. Eating the pizza I always loved—but again, alone.
And then I saw you. I froze.
You were with someone—someone beautiful, someone who looked better than me in every way. I tried to hide my face, to avoid your eyes, but you saw me.

You have changed. Cargos, good sneakers—the ones I always admired—and a checkered shirt I always wanted to see you wear.
But all that… with some other girl. Maybe your partner.
I was smiling, but my eyes betrayed me. I was crying. You walked up to me. You saw me crying. You saw me struggling. You saw me sitting there—alone. And yet, you laughed.
My heart broke into pieces.
I kept telling myself: I don’t love you anymore. Repeating the lie so much, I started to believe it—until now.
You didn’t hold my hand when I was at my weakest. You just left. And I couldn’t even sleep last night because the pain felt so real.
You laughed… while I sat there falling apart. Everyone saw it.

-

A Haphazard Destiny

Who knew that in my search for a room full of familiar faces, I would stumble into darkness instead—flames flickering in my heart, uncertain yet unyielding?

Each day, I pushed forward, restless, like a squirrel darting across a road—only to halt at the edge of my own limits, unsure if I could cross.

The early twenties are a paradox—old enough to crave stability, yet young enough to feel lost in the drift.

I never intended to surrender so soon. But perhaps, destiny had its own designs.

-

I stood on the knife’s edge of a cliff, the wind whispering invitations to the void, yet I held my eternity breath, refusing to surrender to gravity’s call.

I wove myself into the veins of the forest, a serpent coiling around the pulse of the earth, steadying my heartbeat to trace the winding road back to the city's concrete embrace.

Between the tangled branches of thought, I jolted—an echo caught between past and present, realizing too late that the ghost of yesterday had built a cage where tomorrow should stand.

His name, etched onto the final trembling leaf, clung to the frail limb of autumn’s end, a prayer against the inevitable descent.

And as the song of his memory unraveled, each note dissolving into the silence of time, I found myself standing at the crossroads—a compass with no north, longing for direction.

-

Can someone hear me,
A part of scribbles from my diary

-

Wasn't the dream
composed
with sixth sense
was the solitude
knocked
Discovering that
Neither the sunset
Nor sunrise
Ends with scarlet.

-

I loathed the presumption of being a woman,
unscented by desires to be a fine art.
My art bristled—
winter's doors stamped shut,
tides unfurled, rolling heavy stones off my heart.

Beneath the roof of my ribs,
I let go of sudden luminories.
Birds chirped, stirring nuanced thoughts.

I took the wrong turn and stole—
the fall of each season,
summer’s heat,
winter’s cold,
autumn’s descent.

But spring—
I resisted its steps, its invitation to bloom.
Perhaps the peacocking thought
would never let me tread that path—
a single step toward heaven.

-

This evening, my delicate curtain refused to flow. I hadn’t noticed my mischievous niece had fastened a cold, steel clip onto its fragile fabric. I’ve always cherished peeking through the soft, fluttering curtain to watch the radiant dusk, letting the serene, golden light blend with my wandering thoughts. But tonight, I missed the fleeting moment when the sunset painted the sky and disappeared—just as I had missed the silent moment when love slipped away. He swept out of my life, leaving my heart painfully clipped in place, unable to sway for him again. Countless mesmerizing sunsets have come and gone since then. I never got him back, and the stubborn clip still clings to the curtain, untouched.

-

I never longed for you. To be honest, your presence has faded, confined now to the pages of a diary where I once wrote about mortals—and you. You’ve become mere words I flip through occasionally, when time and curiosity allow.

Most of those pages recount our lowest moments, times when I was made to believe that my flaws drove you away. Fair enough. Now that your presence no longer lingers, I’ve grown accustomed to writing about everything else.

This feels no different—I don’t long for you, but even this indifference demands words to find its release.

-

He canvassed my bend for euphoric love,
But how could I ascend when his past burned like embers?
With each espresso shot, I intoxicated my pen,
Scribbling fragments of him across blank pages.

He lived on the far side of town,
Where January's carnivals brimmed with joy.
I strolled those lively lanes, hoping for his glance.
His eyes, a silent storm, torqued my fragile world,
A spring dance hiding love beneath the crust,
Waiting for fruits to bloom and feather the air.

I turned my diary's pages with each passing year,
Until, a minute before the final hour of December,
His silence echoed, calling me to face its truth.

On the eve of a new beginning,
I let him go.
To find the meaning of detachment,
To embrace a love unchained.

-

Emptiness is the tunnel where we
house our weary hearts,
letting them wander on the cold,
metallic ground,
each step echoing with a faint,
mournful squeal.
The corridor of colors has withered
away,
its vibrancy eroded by time; once,
spring danced here, but now, it retreats.

My pen slipped into the abyss,
its plunge marking the silence of
expression.
Perhaps understanding this void could
etch a new definition of living.

I never reached for the rainbow,
choosing instead to summon the black clouds,
their shadows linger, their weight eternal.

-