Love

January 6, 2025—a date carved into the marrow of my bones. The night I let go of the girl who once felt like oxygen. The girl who stood by me when the world turned its back, who sang me back to life long before I knew I’d need saving. We met at her singing audition. I still remember how her voice cracked on the high note of her song, how she laughed afterward, cheeks flushed, shrugging at the judges like it didn’t matter. But it did—to me. That laugh became my compass. When I was drowning in self-doubt, she’d hum that random song while doing her hair, off-key and unashamed, just to pull a smile from me. Now, her voice fades a little more each day, and I’m terrified of the silence it leaves behind. ...

Hey there, So, I’ve got this blank page staring back at me. Just one. And I’ve decided to keep it that way—empty, untouched, waiting. It’s not because I’m out of words or ideas. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of those. But this page? It’s for you. Just in case. I don’t know if you’ll ever come back. Honestly, I don’t even know if I want you to. But here’s the thing about love—or whatever it is we had—it doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. It hides in the corners of your mind, in the songs you skip too quickly, in the way you still reach for your phone at 2 a.m. even though you know you shouldn’t. ...

Dreams have this funny way of sneaking into our heads when we least expect them, don’t they? Last night, I had one of those dreams that felt so real, so vivid, it left me staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes after I woke up. And guess who decided to make a surprise appearance? Yep, my ex. It’s been a while since we last spoke—months, actually. Life’s moved on, as it always does, but there she was, right there in my dream, like no time had passed at all. We were sitting in this cozy little café, the kind with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that changes every day. She was laughing at something I said, that same laugh that used to make me feel like I’d won some kind of prize. And for a moment, it felt… normal. Like we were still us. ...

Ah, missing someone. It’s like carrying around a little emotional ghost, isn’t it? You feel their presence even when they’re long gone, and sometimes it’s comforting, other times it’s just plain haunting. But here’s the thing: just because you miss someone doesn’t mean you need them back in your life. In fact, missing them might just be part of the messy, beautiful process of moving on. Let’s get real for a second. Missing someone—especially an ex—is totally normal. It doesn’t mean you made a mistake by ending things or that you’re weak for still caring. It just means you’re human. You shared moments, memories, and maybe even a piece of your heart with them. Of course, there’s going to be a void when they’re no longer around. But here’s the kicker: that void isn’t a sign you need to fill it with them again. Sometimes, it’s just there to remind you that you’re growing, changing, and making space for something—or someone—better. ...

It all started in the most unremarkable of places—a high school auditorium on a balmy evening. I was helping out with auditions for a school event, calling out names as students took their turns on stage. One by one, I went down the list, until I reached a name that would, unbeknownst to me, change everything: Jasmine. She walked up to the stage in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, her presence quiet but magnetic. When she sang, her voice had this raw, untapped potential—soft but full of promise. Her song choice didn’t quite suit her, but something about her stuck with me. Maybe it was the way she carried herself or the way our eyes briefly met. It was just a fleeting moment, a glance between strangers, but little did I know, it was the beginning of a story that would unfold over the next two years. ...