Sunflowers and sunsets. Goodbyes not said. A quiet exit, a whisper. Did you hear it? I called you. Did you hear me? Between right and wrong. And now I'm gone.
Each day gives me a chance to pick myself up and start again. But I do have a book, a tiny one, in which I've written what I will not do again. I've learnt my lesson, I'll not do it again. Bring on the Sun today. Let it burn.
The littlest gestures matter: How you talk to someone. How you show up. Your availability. Your willingness. How you remember what they want and not just what they like. How you hold on.
We are tired, flawed, and quietly afraid. We carry our wounds like rare treasure, forgetting that everyone bleeds. Yet, we still fail to empathise with another. We fail to realise we all go through the same pains. We think, it's only us. It's not. We are all wounded children.
If I let you in please don't unsettle the dust. I have gotten used to it now. It's a part of me. The sunlight makes it sparkle. The breeze tries hard to move it. It's there, comfortable. Let it be. And if you want to be a part of me, accept the dust as me.
The disrespect, the deception. The lack of hesitation. The audacity. Shut up and listen the next time someone tells you why they don't trust people. This is how victims are made.