every time i flutter away
࣪ 𖥔the thread 𝆭of my hea𝆺𝅥rt pulls me back to u. .࣪ 𖥔
so what is the point of flying?"
@7:18

take the wings
take the range
and give me one step that ends with u." 🪽
@7:18

the wings that do not carry me to u are merely a burden on my back.
@7:18

its as if i'm a fire that finds nothing to devour
so it consumes the wreckage of its own soul.

its like i’m a huge fire that broke out in a wasteland
no forest to burn, no wood to keep me going, so i just turned inward and started eating my own roots.
i’m the fire and the wood at the same time
every time hope sparks in me, it just turns into ash, blowing away in a sky of endless despair.
i try to call out to the wind for help, but it only fans the flames.
i wait for the rain, but it evaporates before it can even touch the burn in my soul.
so this is how i go on—just fading away in silence, flickering out bit by bit, until there’s nothing left of me but a darkness that looks like a stranger’s night.

i am lost between two paths, one that breaks me and the other that erases my trace
and both lead to an abyss with no bottom.

It's as if I'm stuck at a crossroads
every time i choose a path
i find despair waiting for me at the end...
as if all paths were designed to lead me back to my disappointment.

it was as if i were a wave crashing against itself
hope was sinking and despair was rising

i’m standing on the edge of my own soul like a wild, crashing sea.
no shore feels for me, and there’s no harbor to end this mess inside.
its like im a massive wave born just to hit itself, breaking over its own chest, and drowning in its own depths before ever hitting land.
hope, to me, is like an oil lamp that dropped to the bottom of the ocean
its oil floats up like a letdown, and its light is choking in the dark. Every time I try to come up for air, the weight of despair pulls me back down.
i’ve become a drowning person who’s actually scared of being saved, because the dry land just doesn't have room for all my broken pieces anymore.

try to love ur sorrows
perhaps they will leave like the things u loved

i’m just this big blue emptiness stretching way past the horizon where my voice don't even echo it just hits me right back

loneliness aint about people being gone it’s about being a whole damn ocean that can’t find a single drop that feels like me i’m full of everything but got nothing at all
every wave i send to the shore is a cry for help in a bottle but the tide just brings it back all smashed up like the land won't even listen to me hurt
i’ve turned into one of those ghost ships just floating with nowhere to go wood all rotted from waiting till the sea forgot i was even a stranger
now i’m stuck in the deep where the light just gives up and the lonely feels heavy enough to crush my bones
nobody’s brave enough to dive in and find me they all just look at how calm i look on top not knowing this quiet is just the corpse of a storm that killed itself cuz it had nobody to be crazy with

Iׁ wׁaׁnׁtׁ to inhabit uׁr world, to be the sole possessor of ur gaze, and the permanent dweller in the depths of ur heart.
I want ur heart to forget how to beat for anyone else, and to make my presence the rhythm that quickens its beat, and to sing oׁnׁlׁyׁ fׁoׁrׁ mׁeׁ. ׁ

I  want u , all to myself—ur eyes, ur heart, every beat of ur chest.
i want u to beat for me and withme, and for my presence to unsettle the tranquility of ur heart, making it race as if its running toward me.

be mine, be mine alone.
i want to be ur last secret and ur first dream, to dwell in ur heart and have no one else share you with me.
I want to hear ur heartbeat tell me you're mine, and for ur pulse to falter with love whenever I draw near.

@718

when letters become incapable of containing a feeling that overflows from the soul
and words become mere pale shadows of the storms and tranquility that stir in the chest
here silence is born, which is more eloquent than any statement.
the highest degree of expression is that which tongues are unable to utter, so the heartbeats speak instead, and the eyes are content to draw stories that have not been written in a book, where silence becomes a sacred language understood only by those who realize that the depth of meaning always lies in what is not said
718