Childhood
the reality of true love . Content Warning.
I cried. I cried for you, for us.you were my first love, my last love, and everything in between. No one could be as good as you.Why must you leave me? because i deserve the pain, the suffering? did you really have to leave?..The scars on my heart show on my wrists as much as my tears do on my soul. Was this all worth it? the short term bitter-sweetness this "safe place" all for what? To know if this feeling exists? The gut retching feeling of getting your heart ripped out of your chest by the one you love the most? Because its real I've felt it. this pain, The pain that hits you so hard reality doesn't even feel real. It feels like swallowing a bomb and then just waiting. Waiting for your own self destruct..your own doom. This feeling is love, yes love, yes it exists, true love. Love hits hard love is the thing that hold you back from saying every word inside you, it changes you fully for better or worse. But love also saves you a little from yourself, from your own relief, from your own past but it mostly saves you from reality because love is nothing but an illusion until you experience it that is and that only happens once. You cant truly love twice because the first time you do, there's nothing else in the whole universe like it. you cant see yourself the same way, you cant love like that again because people only have one heart and once you give your heart to someone you cant get it back the same its damaged, broken, shattered even you cant trust someone with it again like you did the first time so when your time comes to love, to cherish.. hold onto to that string that attaches you to your person hold onto it.. hold on no matter what, hold on until the string cuts and burns your hands, hold this string with all god has given you until it breaks don't let go because you'll never get another string after all- this string, this love.. is all an illusion of the mind. When I think about love i think about breathing. Some times it comes easy how it flows through you chest but other times you can barely take a breath without it hurting, that's how love is though true love is never easy, its hard to love but in reality love is so very important it holds us together as a society, its like a rock it stays together, it has a bond. But sometimes that rock can break.. and when it breaks it doesn't break into just two pieces. No. its a million pieces like the heart after love is taken away.
By Anonymous_poet132 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of Parchment Dust
The air in the Grand Archive tasted of paper and time, thick and still. Elias ran a hand over the spine of a leather-bound tome, the cool, dry skin of the book a familiar comfort, a familiar curse. Seventy-three years. He’d walked these aisles, breathed this dust, cataloged these silent histories for seventy-three years. Every creak of the ancient floorboards, every rustle of a turning page, every cough from the lone night guard down the hall, they were whispers. Always whispers. Not from the living, no. From the dead. From the words themselves, accusatory, knowing.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Unlit Ballroom
The weight of it, Jesus, it was a physical thing. Sat across from her at the kitchen table, the fluorescent light above humming, buzzing, too bright for this hour. For this moment. It bleached the color from everything, made Eleanor’s face look stark, tired. My hands, clammy things, were clamped tight under the table, knuckles white. Stomach twisted in knots, a fist clenching around something sharp, something metallic. Been practicing the words for weeks. Whispered them into the bathroom mirror, into the empty air of my car on the way to work, into the deep, unforgiving night. Never sounded right. Always too small, too flimsy for the chasm they had to cross. My tongue felt thick, a slug in my mouth.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Grave of Silence. Content Warning.
They called me cruel. But they never looked at what they left behind. I wish they could see the broken side of me—the part they help create. The part that still wakes with me. Still follows me like a shadow, never gone, always just beneath the surface.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Confessions
The Archivist's Burden
The air in the Grand Reading Room always felt thin, even at midday, but tonight, past closing, it was a chokehold. Elias moved through the hushed expanse, his footsteps absorbed by the thick Persian rugs that had outlasted generations of scholars. Every oak shelf, every towering stack, seemed to lean in, heavy with unspoken histories, with the weight of paper and time. He was a creature of habit, an archivist by trade, but tonight wasn't about cataloging the past. Tonight was about burying it deeper, or maybe, finally, unearthing it.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Fog in My Bones
I’m gonna tell you something stupid. Something I barely admit to myself, let alone another living soul. It’s about a place. A particular patch of earth, wind-battered and soaked in rain, somewhere on the very edge of the world. The thing is, I’ve never been there. Not once. But I feel nostalgic for it, like I left a piece of my goddamn heart on its rocky shores a lifetime ago.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
She Taught Me How to Love Myself Again
I never thought silence could be this loud. A deeply emotional story about motherhood, identity, and rediscovery. From sleepless nights and teenage storms to the quiet joy of letting go, this story explores how one mother learned to love herself again through her daughter's eyes.There's a kind of silence only mothers know - the one that follows after the crying stops, after the rooms grow quiet, after the years of chaos give way to a strange, aching peace.
By noor ul amin2 months ago in Confessions
Living with Autism
All my life I have been called strange or misinterpreted. My face was always a blank slate growing up that others would project onto or use as a sign that I am not interested in therm. My actions were not ever taken louder than my face. Usually my face is taken as being different or stoic. It has been harsh lately when my face was taken to mean I was looking irritated, something it has never been taken as before until I met passive aggressive people.
By Seashell Harpspring 2 months ago in Confessions
dearest virgil,. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
how are you, my consummate friend? now that we are in the same state again for the first time in years, it feels as though we couldn't be further apart. have you managed to escape your hell? i fear i have only managed to postpone my own.
By kp2 months ago in Confessions
