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Happy birthday to whoever’s celebrating today! Hope your day’s filled with Loveeee 

MADAM JIIII

There are battles no one sees,
          fought in the silence between heartbeats 
          the kind where tears don’t fall,
          they just sit heavy behind the eyes.
          
          You smile like it’s easy,
          but inside, you’re stitching yourself
          with threads made of faith,
          and fragments of “maybe tomorrow.”
          
          It’s okay to be tired of being strong,
          to whisper “God, please,”
          and let the ache unravel a little 
          because even wilted flowers
          are still loved by the sun.

I don’t always wake up brave.
          Some mornings I just lie there,
          staring at the ceiling,
          trying to remember who I was
          before life got this heavy.
          
          I tell myself, it’s okay to not shine today,
          that even breathing counts as progress.
          Because some days, surviving
          is the most beautiful thing I can do.
          
          People see the smile 
          they don’t see the battle it hides.
          The prayers whispered through tears,
          the nights I promise God
          I’ll try again tomorrow.
          
          I’m not who I used to be,
          but maybe that’s not a bad thing.
          Maybe breaking
          is just how I learned to bend.
          And maybe one day,
          I’ll look back and see
          that even when I thought I was lost,
          I was finding my way home.

Madam ji, meri thread kahan gayi?

He doesn’t even know I exist,
          but somehow, he lives in me.
          
          He’s in the songs I replay,
          the smiles I imagine,
          the daydreams I hide from the world.
          
          I built a whole story in my head,
          a love that never left my mind.
          He’s a stranger,
          but my heart treats him like home.
          
          He’ll never know the way his name
          feels like a prayer I never said out loud.
          He’ll never know
          how much space he takes up
          in a life he’s never touched.

I became what they gave me 
          their pauses, their cold replies,
          their fading care.
          And when they saw themselves in me,
          they called me distant.

I wait for good things,
          but the waiting feels endless 
          like standing in rain,
          hoping it’ll wash away the ache
          but it only makes it sink deeper.
          
          I look for signs in everything 
          a song, a number, a dream,
          as if the universe might whisper
          why I still ache for what’s gone,
          why I still care for who let me go.
          
          Some nights, I convince myself
          I’ve moved on 
          then one memory breathes your name
          and I fall apart again,
          quietly, where no one sees.
          
          There’s a desperation in my heart 
          to let go,
          to feel free,
          to stop missing ghosts
          that don’t miss me.
          
          But maybe healing is cruelly slow,
          and maybe that’s okay 
          because even in the breaking,
          I’m learning what it means
          to still have hope
          in the ruins of goodbye.

I don’t even know what I’m waiting for
          a sign, a change, a name,
          something to make the ache inside
          feel seen, or still, or tamed.
          
          Some days it feels like love, maybe,
          other days peace, or rest,
          sometimes I think it’s simply me,
          becoming who I’m meant to be next.
          
          The world keeps moving, endlessly,
          while I stand still and breathe,
          holding hope like fragile glass,
          that something good will reach for me.
          
          It’s strange this faith without a shape,
          this yearning without a face,
          but deep inside, I still believe
          it’s heading toward my place.

          I once found shelter in pages,
          inked worlds that cradled my soul.
          Between words, I was endless 
          untouched, whole, and in control.
          
          But curiosity whispered softly,
          “Step out, meet the world, be free.”
          So I traded my quiet chapters
          for crowds that never saw me.
          
          Now silence greets me again,
          and I see what I couldn’t then 
          books never left when I turned away,
          they waited, patient, like old friends.
          
          For people come in seasons,
          but stories never fade.
          Their loyalty is written
          in every word they’ve made.