sin

i wrote an ode like lightning because there’s a boy i can’t let go of, even after two years. i was sixteen when he came into my life like a lightning strike—sudden, blinding, impossible to hold. now, at nineteen, i’m still tracing the sparks he left behind, still haunted by the way his absence fills every quiet space with echoes of what was never said, what was never done.
          
          it’s strange how someone can feel so close yet so far, like a storm that passed but left the smell of rain and the distant sound of thunder. he’s the boy who was like lightning—brilliant, fleeting, and unforgettable. and here i am, left holding fragments of him, chasing his shadow in places where he used to be.
          
          an ode like lightning is my way of letting go—or at least trying to. i thought that if i could put him into words, i’d finally move on. maybe this is my chance to capture something so brief, so electric, and so untouchable. to remember him without the weight of wondering if he remembers me. to honor the feeling of falling for someone who will never know just how deeply they’ve lingered in my heart, even as they faded into the storm.
          
          maybe it’s just me, still looking for him in every flash of light, in every quiet pause, hoping that one day he might understand. 
          
          it’s been two years, and the storm hasn’t left. but maybe, through this, i’ll finally find a way to stand in its aftermath.

it's been years since i felt the grip of writing—the kind of grip that pulls something from the tangled mess of thoughts and memories, the one that lets me carve meaning from the noise in my mind. for so long, i wondered if i’d ever feel it again, if i’d ever return to the quiet place where words are born. one of my goals this year was simple: ‘green light’. so i did. and here we are.
          
          this book, this collection—it’s every sip of wine, every breath held too long, every night spent staring into the void of silence. it’s the space between us, the weight of everything lost in those moments when we couldn’t reach each other. it’s the pause between two heartbeats, the stillness where you can hear the echo of everything you didn’t say. it's here, finally, for those who know that some things take time to break open.
          
          this is for those who’ve always lived halfway between goodbye and wanting more. for you, who loves too deep, who drinks to forget, and yet, still chases after something you can’t name. if i could reach you, i’d say it’s all in the spaces you leave behind—the quiet moments between breaths, between bottles. there’s no salvation in this mess, but maybe, just maybe, in the last sip, in the stillness after the storm, you’ll find a reason to hold on. if not for me, then for the parts of you that still remember how it felt to love before it all turned bitter. this is for you. it’s out now. i can breathe again.
          
          they say to immortalize someone, so i did. so much wine is poetry that lingers like the last drop—warm, bitter, impossibly familiar. and now, it's out there, waiting for you to take a sip, to feel it settle into your bones the way it has mine.
          
          this will be updated each night for the next nine days, until christmas. happy holidays xx