Quiet Check
A moment of stillness, a pause long enough to hear what’s shifting underneath. A short reflection on the quiet checks we make when the noise drops and the truth comes forward.
I went through the whole timeline again tonight. The only part that was wrong was everything. It should never have unfolded the way it did, but it did, and the part I still can’t deny is this: you showed me what cruelty was, and I executed it myself.
Some Nights
Some nights return without warning. The memories, the cities, the versions of me that still rise after dark. A fragment about the hours that blur truth, longing, and the things I still can’t name out loud.
Some nights the past feels louder than the room I’m standing in.
A hum under the skin.
A memory trying to crawl back inside
A small life
A fragment about missing the small life. The quiet kitchen moments, the bowls by the window, and the feeling of being chosen without needing the words.
Some nights I miss the small life.
The kettle on the stove.
The two bowls by the window.
The feeling that someone was choosing me without saying it.
The Night Before
The night before always carries its own kind of tension. The softness, the ache, the knowing. A brief piece about the moment right before everything shifts, when the body already feels the change coming.
The night before my life started to make sense, I couldn’t breathe.
Not in a dramatic way.
In a quiet way.
The kind where you realise you’ve been living on borrowed air for years and never noticed.
I stood in the kitchen with the lights off, listening to a city that wasn’t even mine anymore.
Every version of me I ever abandoned was there too.
The girl who waited for people who never came.
The one who mistook longing for love.
The one who thought disappearing made her easier to keep.
They didn’t say anything.
They didn’t have to.
I felt something shift under my ribs.
A crack.
A warning.
A beginning.
Grief has a way of choosing you before you choose yourself.
But that night, I didn’t flinch.
I let the past sit in the room with me without trying to fold myself into its shape.
I don’t know if that’s healing.
But it felt like the truth.
And truth is louder than fear.
If you let it.
Sometimes I think that was the moment everything changed.
Not the morning after.
Not my birthday.
On a random Thursday night.
Just me, in the dark, finally realising I wasn’t broken.
I wasn’t waiting.
I wasn’t asking.
I was waking up.
And once you wake up you don’t go back.
The past can knock, but it doesn’t live here anymore.