Dear diary,
You know, the best thing about life is that it keeps going. It doesn’t wait for you. You cling to it so hard, begging it to pause, that your hands start to bleed—but it still slips away. Eventually, you learn to let go.

Growing up makes you fear change, fear the unpredictability of it all. But that’s the fun part, you know? Nothing is constant. You’ll have moments where it feels like this is the end, like there’s no life left in you. But what you don’t realize is—you’re just young, and the world is harsh.

As time passes, you start to see that you overcome every hurdle—not because you're some master of life, but simply because that’s how life works. It keeps moving. It won’t stop for your grief; in fact, it might throw another heartbreak your way before you’re done mourning the last. That’s just life.

You become a mosaic of your own misery, piece by piece, and somehow, you learn from it. You grow. You get stronger. Or maybe you just get used to the weight of it all.

We’ve always been told that it gets better. Maybe it does. Or maybe you just become resistant. Maybe life really is a dramatic movie with a good ending. We just have to stick around to see how it ends.

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I often confuse solitude with peace,
With isolation what mind is at ease?

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Let us raise a toast!
(Read the caption)

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I will love you even after death-yet another hypothetical poem
(Read the caption)

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Somewhere between solitude and loneliness.

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She-A Poetry
(Read The Caption)

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That heart of steel is molten inside.

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And when they said that they’ll meet you again,
Little did they know that you won’t exist as yourself after they leave.

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I still lay down on the dewy grass,
Beside those glassy shallows,
Looking at the voidness of the starry sky,
In hope of filling those dark empty spaces with my overflowing thoughts.

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I often ask questions about you to myself.

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