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How to save a life
He walks alone through rain-soaked streets and empty nights, a shadow drifting further from the world that never noticed him leave. Time folds around him, silent and cold, as he slips deeper into the quiet ache of being forgotten. No one speaks. No one sees. And yet-something lingers. A presence, barely there, like a memory that never belonged to him. A voice he hears only when he's closest to disappearing. A breath that meets his own just before he forgets how to take another. This is not a story of being saved. This is a story of remembering the fragile thread between breath and breaking. Of what it means to stand at the edge of goodbye- and to be met, gently, by one last hope. A whisper of light in the darkest hour. A quiet answer to the question: "How to save a life that no longer believes it deserves to live."
det store i det lille livet
vi skal leve, ikke eksistere
Dikt og tanker
Just some thoughts and stuff when it hits me🖤 A lot of this will propobly be somewhat chaotic and come from emotions like sadness, anxiousness, and so on. Therefore if you're easily triggerd by such, please take care of yourself and don't read this ;) However if you do read this, feel free to comment and vote, it would be one of the small joy's in life for me. ❤️ I'll be adding new pieces every now and then. There will be some English and some Norwegian, depending on the thought/poem I'm writing down. All love, Stine
Tårer er som arr
En samling av poesi, kveldstanker og små fortellinger. Denne boken er som et plaster over hjertet mitt som har flere inngraverte arr. Denne boken betyr mye for meg og var vanskelig å skrive - betyr mye om du leser.
He walks alone through rain-soaked streets and empty nights, a shadow drifting further from the world that never noticed him leave. Time folds around him, silent and cold, as he slips deeper into the quiet ache of being forgotten. No one speaks. No one sees. And yet-something lingers. A presence, barely there, like a memory that never belonged to him. A voice he hears only when he's closest to disappearing. A breath that meets his own just before he forgets how to take another. This is not a story of being saved. This is a story of remembering the fragile thread between breath and breaking. Of what it means to stand at the edge of goodbye- and to be met, gently, by one last hope. A whisper of light in the darkest hour. A quiet answer to the question: "How to save a life that no longer believes it deserves to live."
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