alovesecrecy.

Qaffeine , Again I didn’t just feel uncomfortable. I felt hunted. There’s a difference. The kind of person who shows up only when convenience kicks in. Missing in action for almost two years, then suddenly messaging like it’s a reunion special. Like a melodrama ~ “Hi, I’m depressed.” Right — and apparently I’m the emotional therapist on standby. I listened. I thought it was basic human compassion. Turns out it was an entry point. A trap. He didn’t want help — he wanted attention. He wanted access, comfort, validation, whatever he could squeeze out of someone who actually has empathy. And there it was — the word vomit of obsession. “I love you.” Out of absolutely nowhere, like a toddler throwing a tantrum and calling it poetry. My relationship? My privacy? My boundaries? Not his concern. Because apparently, if he feels something, everyone else should reorganize their lives accordingly. He behaves as if his entire world revolves around me. And every time he crossed the...

Wings That Remain Some hearts leave before we’re ready, yet they never truly go. November 23 — a day marked in memory, in heartbeats, in the soft flutter of remembrance. Butterfly — my mother, my mirror, my shadow. We never got along the way I sometimes wished we would. Perhaps I am too much like her, or perhaps life decided our paths would run parallel instead of entwined. You left when I was thirteen, in the middle of exams, leaving me with Luna and Amber . Life continued without you in the ways only children notice — the absence, the questions, the empty spaces no one can fill. Still, I see you in flashes — your strength, your smile, the way you carried yourself despite the weight of your past. I fantasize now, at this age, of bringing you out for high tea, treating you to the best, showing you the life you deserve. You were not perfect. None of us are. But even from afar, I’ve come to admire your resilience, your laughter, your quiet light that persists through everything. Som...

The Way Time Carries Us Autumn passed and winter arrived, almost without warning. Time moves in its own quiet way — fast enough that some words remain unsaid, and some thoughts stay tucked away simply because life keeps going. People drift in and out, sometimes just passing through, sometimes leaving before we even realise their part in our story. After a long silence, some return changed, steadier, or simply more themselves. There’s always that hint of uncertainty when familiar paths cross again — a feeling that things might be slightly out of step, though not necessarily in a bad way. At this point, whatever happens, happens. I’m not here to force meaning into things that don’t need it, nor to overthink what doesn’t deserve the weight. Life flows, and I’m letting it. Thoughts carried by time, and the people who pass through it.

What Was Never Said Not every connection asks to be kept. We once shared the same rhythm — long days, laughter between tasks, a quiet trust built through the passing of time. Two people working toward the same goal, side by side, never crossing lines, but understanding the weight of each other’s silence. A daily dose of qaffeine . Sometimes, the closeness that builds in familiar spaces can blur the edges of meaning. And sometimes, it becomes necessary to draw them back. There were words left unsaid for a long time, until they finally found their way into the open. Calmly. Kindly. With no need for more. It wasn’t an ending to a friendship, the least. Just a pause — a gentle shift from something unspoken to something understood. And in that stillness, I learned that closure doesn’t always arrive with noise. Sometimes, it comes softly — like a door closing on its own, without echo or regret. Some truths are lighter once spoken, even when they arrive late.

After the echoes settle, we wait in the hush. The day marked, the heart remembered, and now there is only the space in between. A space where time slows—not because the world paused, but because I did. It’s November. The leaves have fallen. The noise has faded. And in the silence, I listen. I listen for the new home I’m moving into, for the peace I’ve been holding out for, for the version of myself that remains. I've come this far, patiently waiting yet for 2 more years. Storm and I trace shadows through the half-lit hallway of what will be. Whilst amidst the chaos, you are there in the quiet, in that soft presence that doesn’t demand explanation. Viper and Oak, the old patterns still flicker—but I am less moved now. Less carried. Less waiting for someone else to save me. Because survival is not just about holding on—it’s about gentle letting go. Here in this hush, I choose to breathe. And to believe that the things I carry will root me, not weigh me. The quiet that follow...