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there is no hierarchy of pain
trauma is trauma. it is not a contest, not a hierarchy, not a scoreboard where only the “worst” story earns comfort, care, or compassion. if you have ever swallowed your pain with, “i shouldn’t feel this way,” or “other people have it worse,” i want you to hear this with gentleness: that thought is not
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the great lock-in, but make it soft
if you’ve been online lately, you’ve seen it everywhere—the great lock-in, the winter arc, the ins + outs lists flooding timelines like a collective deep breath before the new year. everyone is “locking in,” recalibrating, promising a better version of themselves before january even arrives. and honestly? i don’t hate the idea. i just refuse
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disappointment is not an event. it is a pattern that teaches the body how to survive.
it begins quietly—almost politely. a promise delayed. a moment missed. an apology that sounds sincere enough to soften the sting. and in the beginning, love fills in the gaps. love explains. love waits. love believes in potential more than evidence. love convinces itself that effort will be reciprocated eventually. this is how people end up
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what i look for in my partners
i am not looking for perfection. i am not looking for a fairytale that never argues, never missteps, never gets messy. i am looking for something far rarer than that: a person who shows up. a person whose love has weight to it. a person whose presence isn’t a performance, but a practice. i look
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imprinted, and choosing gentleness
“we choose friendshipwith love still breathing softly between us,imprints resting beneath the skin,unmoved by time or names.not to return,not to reach,but to honor what was realand carry it gently,without letting it wound.” we are trying to be friends again, and i don’t think people understand how much courage that actually takes. it isn’t casual. it
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the ones who still know how to read a soul
there is a certain kind of heartbreak reserved for the ones who feel deeply in a world that has grown impatient with depth. it is not the sharp kind that tears through you—it is slower, quieter, the kind that settles beneath the ribs like a truth you wish you didn’t know. it’s the ache of


