The world, from where I stand. Slightly tilted.
Like old letters passed between hands — these are my stories. Yours are welcome too.
I write to make sense of being here. This space is a soft couch of words — a place to land when life stretches or stings. It’s the middle of it all. Not lost, not found.
Just rhythm, stillness, and breath.
Pause here.
Not to escape —
but to feel what you’ve been carrying.
I don’t write because I want to.
I write because I have to.
It’s the one way I make sense of things — the noise, the stillness, the in-betweens. Some people breathe oxygen. I breathe expression.
This space isn’t polished or curated. It’s not here to tell you how to live. It’s just my corner of the galaxy — where I put words to feelings, and trace the loops I’ve broken to get here.
I believe we’re all just tiny specks in an infinite universe, playing our roles, trying to love, survive, unlearn, and evolve.
So this is me, playing mine.
Writing about the questions I carry. The perspectives I’ve gathered. The messes I’ve sat with. And the quiet lessons that changed me.
If any of it resonates, maybe you’re carrying the same questions too.
Read on. Stay as long as you’d like.
There’s no right way to be here — just be.
If any of this stayed with you, tell me what it meant to you. Or better — tell me your version of the same story.
If this cracked something open in you, write it down — even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy
I told you mine. Now tell me yours. Drop what you felt, what you learnt, or what this reminded you of. I’ll be here to read it.
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