This Was Always About You
- Leituras 10
- Votos 1
- Capítulos 1
Em andamento<5 mins
Última atualização sáb, abr 19, 2025
Just a bunch of poems I wrote about someone I'll probably never tell. It's soft. It's real. And it's for him, even if he'll never read it.
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All of The Girls
She knew he'd been in love before. Not just once, not just in passing. Real, deep, messy love. And maybe that should've been her sign to keep her distance. To not let herself feel too much. But instead, it made her pause. Because the way he talked about them-the girls before her- it wasn't bitter. It wasn't dramatic. It was quiet. Thoughtful. Almost gentle. He remembered birthdays, late-night calls, stupid little details no one else would hold on to. He loved them well. Or at least, he tried. And that's what messed her up. Because it made her want to fall even harder. And at the same time, it made her want to run. She wasn't afraid of his past. She was afraid that someone like him-someone who had already given so much-might not have anything left for her. Or worse, that he would love her the same way. And she'd fall for it, just like they did. And end up as another name he says gently, years, from now.
After Everything
Prologue: Before the storm, there was softness. There was laughter in quiet cafes, late-night calls that turned into early mornings, hands tangled in each other like roots learning how to hold. There was a boy who made me feel seen, and a girl who still believed that love-real love-could be enough. We weren't perfect, but we were in love. The kind of love that feels handwritten by the universe. The kind of love you bet everything on, even when the odds start to shift. But the thing about love is that it doesn't unravel all at once. It frays. Quietly. Softly. One skipped detail. One unanswered question. One moment of doubt that grows roots while you're still convincing yourself everything's fine. This is a story about that unraveling. About the ache of being almost chosen. About trust that cracked before it broke. But it's also a story about resilience. About finding your voice in the silence. About choosing love-not just in someone else, but in yourself. Because sometimes the greatest love stories aren't the ones that come easy. They're the ones you fight for, walk away from, and learn to return to with open eyes. This is not just a love story. It's a reckoning. A healing. A reminder that sometimes, even in the aftermath, love still finds a way back. And this time, it's real.Concluída
Coffee Shop Love (editing)
{she's broken} Everybody knows. {he's broken} He hides it better. He wants to help her. She doesn't want his help. But no matter what, he won't give up. Even if that means breaking his heart a little more.Concluída
The book of poems
A book of poems I've created. Poetry has always inspired me so I hope mine does for someone. Thank you.Concluída
THE BOOK OF FORGOTTEN DELIBERATELY
"Some truths don't set you free. They set you on fire." They told me not to open that book. They warned me with stories-old, crusty ones-about madness, about secrets best left untouched. They said the library's far wing was cursed. That the books in that section didn't whisper wisdom-they screamed. But curiosity has a strange way of settling into your bones, especially when you've lived your entire life inside walls built from someone else's truths. My name? It doesn't matter-not yet. This story isn't about names. It's about what was forgotten deliberately. And how I found it. I wasn't born a rebel. I didn't want to challenge kingdoms or rewrite history. I just wanted to understand who I was, why I felt out of place, and what those strange dreams meant. The ones with burning skies and voices calling me by a name no one else knew. This isn't a tale of heroes and villains. It's messier than that. It's about a girl who found a truth so big, it didn't fit into her world. And maybe-just maybe-it won't fit into yours either. But I'll tell it anyway. Because stories like this-whispers like these-were never meant to stay silent. Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, or locales is purely coincidental. The stories in this book are designed to entertain, provoke thought, and explore a range of emotions and themes. They do not intend to offend or represent any belief system, historical accuracy, or cultural narrative in a literal way. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author.Concluída
The Same Heart
This isn't about forgetting. It's about choosing love again. With the same heart, that once loved another.Concluída
The Poetry of my Life
It shows just how much I like my crush. I like him a lot but in many ways like in songs and poems. I describe him as my most important person just like my family and friends. And this is mostly about my life and how i felt on that very day. And how everday has changed me by all the things that i am going through.
A missed chance
Some people are chapters. You were just a title I never got to write. And maybe that's all we were meant to be. "I wonder if you ever feel the weight of the words you never said."
She knew he'd been in love before. Not just once, not just in passing. Real, deep, messy love. And maybe that should've been her sign to keep her distance. To not let herself feel too much. But instead, it made her pause. Because the way he talked about them-the girls before her- it wasn't bitter. It wasn't dramatic. It was quiet. Thoughtful. Almost gentle. He remembered birthdays, late-night calls, stupid little details no one else would hold on to. He loved them well. Or at least, he tried. And that's what messed her up. Because it made her want to fall even harder. And at the same time, it made her want to run. She wasn't afraid of his past. She was afraid that someone like him-someone who had already given so much-might not have anything left for her. Or worse, that he would love her the same way. And she'd fall for it, just like they did. And end up as another name he says gently, years, from now.
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