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a thank you carved from the hurt you left behind
i want to thank you, though saying that feels strange in a mouth still full of hurt. gratitude shouldn’t live this close to heartbreak, but somehow it does. somehow it rises right alongside the ache, the confusion, the betrayal, the grief of being turned into someone i never was. when you came into my life,
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every chapter made me someone i didn’t know i’d need
there are days when i look back at my life and it feels like holding a stack of old, dog-eared pages — some soft around the edges, some ripped straight down the middle, some stained with tears i never admitted were mine. and sometimes, if i’m honest, i wish i could rewrite a few of
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when two bitter people link together
“bitterness can link two people in a heartbeat, stitching their wounds together like matching scars. but a bond built on resentment is a fragile thing — loud at first, then hollow, then gone. only truth has the steadiness to hold, only honesty has the spine to last, and only light can keep anything standing after
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when someone rewrites you into the villain
there are heartbreaks you survive, and there are heartbreaks you inhabit. the latter are the ones that take up residence beneath your ribs, the ones you carry like a second pulse, the ones that don’t ask permission before they ache. this is one of those heartbreaks — the kind that follows me from morning quiet
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for the one who still lives in my quiet
darling… if only you knew how hard it is to write this without shaking. there is something about this poem—this quiet confession of two haunted souls—that slices me open in the softest way. it feels like someone crawled inside my ribcage, listened to every truth i never said aloud, and typed it out on paper.
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the call i didn’t see coming
the other day, i walked into the gym with that familiar mix of dread and determination—the kind that sits heavy in your chest when you’re trying to rebuild something that was taken from you. i’ve failed out of physical therapy three separate times now, not because i didn’t try, not because i didn’t want to
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peace first, access earned
i’ve spent most of my life reading rooms i never asked to read. not because i wanted to, but because i had to. it’s a skill born from survival—learning to study tone, posture, silence, the tiny fractures in someone’s expression that tell the truth long before their words catch up. i can feel fake smiles
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Whispered Words | thtgrlinbloom, 🌻 