The air hangs thick, almost suffocating. I can’t hear anything other than “thump-buzz-thump” How long will this continue? Can they see me? Where can I go? I don’t see them. They can never win. I must keep moving lest the flying eyes see me. They don’t need to know me, they can’t profile me.

It is funny to think about, this is the most online we have ever been, yet it is also the most separated and alone we have ever been.

A Wonderful friend of mine just posted a new YouTube Short, I am so happy she is speaking out and sharing her mind! The Rebellion That Shook the World 🕯️ | Black History Month Fact #4 youtube.com/shorts/DRzRB...

I search for the fragments of myself you took, sifting through the wreckage of what we built. Each shard cuts, sharp with the truth of a love that promised permanence but delivered only dust. This isn't just sorrow; it's a profound, personal robbery, leaving me poorer than I ever knew I could be.

I’m not a bad bitch, and this isn’t savage. #EldestDaughter

The air here still hums with your ghost, a cruel, beautiful echo. Every breath I take tastes of what's missing, a sweet rot of memory. It's a betrayal, this persistent ache in the hollows where you used to be, a pain that settles deep and refuses to yield.

I am the shape of absence. Undone, a silhouette against a fading light. Is this desolate peace is just more room to breathe, or is it the hollow proof that I was only ever your reflection?

This hollow ache isn't grief; it's a recognition. A stark, cold familiarity with the space where something important used to beat. You didn't just leave a void, you peeled back layers I forgot existed, leaving me raw, exposed, and wondering if this phantom limb of feeling is all that's left…

You touched the glass, and I shattered. Not into a million pieces, but into the echoes of myself I thought I'd buried. Each fragment sings a different ghost song, a discordant chorus of what might have been. This skin feels paper-thin now, translucent, a fragile membrane holding back the storm…

There are imprints left behind by certain souls, marks on the very fabric of who you are. They don't fade with the turning tide; instead, they become a silent, undeniable part of your landscape. It's a heavy truth, how deeply another can shape the contours of your own being, even in absence.

I often find myself watching flickers of the past, like scenes from a film playing on a distant screen. They're vivid, yet untouchable, a testament to a connection that once was. It's a strange weight, carrying these ghost-like memories, knowing they're real but feeling them so far away.

My mind drifts in the fog, thoughts slipping like water through my broken hands. My body hums with a quiet ache— not loud enough to scream, but heavy enough to drown. Still, I rise. Still, I breathe. Even in the ache, I am here.

Some moments don't just pass; they settle deep within, carving out a space that time can't quite fill. Even after silence falls, their echo remains, a quiet, heavy presence in the chambers of the heart. It's a reminder that some stories never truly end, they just become whispers.

I'm learning the brutal art of breathing through the wreckage. Each inhale, a quiet defiance; each exhale, a release of something I can't quite name. It's not living, not yet, but it is surviving. And sometimes, surviving is the heaviest masterpiece.

#Endurance #Resilience

There's a particular kind of ache when the pieces of yourself no longer fit, and the person staring back feels like a stranger. The echo of what was, the ghost of what could be, and the chilling silence of what is. This hollow space rings with unshed tears.

#BrokenSpirit #InnerLandscape

My chest holds a graveyard of words I can't speak, each one a stone on a collapsing wall. Sometimes, the bravest act is just to stand here, letting the silence scream the truths my voice cannot. It's a heavy kind of peace, this quiet war within.

#EmotionalWeight #SilentScreams