Story cover for I Wrote It Down So I Can Breathe by Noi_thats_me
I Wrote It Down So I Can Breathe
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    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
  • WpView
    Reads 9
  • WpVote
    Votes 2
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Jan 02
Devlin Matthews isn't just unlucky-he's cursed. At least, that's what his father says. Trapped in a house filled with anger and silence, twelve-year-old Dev clings to the only thing that feels safe: a battered, old journal he's named Echo. In its pages, he writes the truths he can't say out loud-his fears, his dreams, and the pain he hides from the world.

Through his journal, Dev starts to find his voice, piecing together fragments of hope in a life that often feels hopeless. But as the cracks in his world grow wider, Dev is forced to face a choice: stay silent and let the shadows consume him, or take a leap of faith and trust that someone might care enough to listen.
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Part Of Him

23 parts Ongoing Mature

She was supposed to remember the best day of her life. She just can't remember if it ever happened. Ava used to believe in ordinary magic. Messy mornings with Maya knocking over mugs and yelling about coffee filters. Studio nights where Aiden argued about fonts like the world depended on it. Quiet days filled with pencil smudges, gold light, and music she never let anyone else hear. She had rules, routines, a voice that filled the room when she wanted it to-and a life that, while chaotic, was hers. Then came the stillness. They say she's healing. That memory can be slippery after grief. But the pieces don't align. Why does she flinch when he touches her? Why do her old journals sound like they were written by a stranger? Why does Aiden-distant, bitter, and quiet-look at her like she betrayed him? And why does Maya, the one person who always told her the truth, suddenly fall silent when Ava starts asking questions? Her past is blurred. Her future feels chosen for her. And in the mirror, she sees a girl shaped by someone else's hands. But somewhere, buried under fog and half-truths, a part of her remembers what it felt like to belong to no one. Not loved. Not kept. Not rewritten. Just... hers.