It happens in a blink,
a breath,
a room,
a word you swear
you’ve already heard.
Not just heard,
lived.

You freeze.
The world tilts sideways.
Your body is present
but your soul is looking backward,
grasping at a memory
that was never yours to begin with.

You’ve never been in this place.
And yet,
you remember the light
falling exactly like this.
The way someone laughs.
The way your heart pauses,
like it’s waiting
for something you forgot to forget.

It feels like
a whisper from another life,
a crack in the timeline,
a glitch in the loop.
A version of you
that once stood
right here,
saying the same thing,
feeling this exact ache
in your chest.

Maybe time folds.
Maybe memory leaks.
Maybe the universe repeats itself
in soft echoes,
hoping we’ll notice
how connected it all really is.

Or maybe
it’s the soul remembering
what the mind can’t explain—
a dream we walked through
before this life began.
A quiet nudge
that we’ve been here
before.

Even if we haven’t.

Why do we dissect the stars
instead of letting them simply shine?
Why must every silence
be filled with a reason,
every feeling
pinned down and labeled,
like butterflies behind glass?

Why do we fear the unknown
more than we fear missing its beauty?
Why do we tug at mystery
like it owes us an answer?

Some things
are meant to be felt,
not solved.
A laugh that comes too fast.
A dream that makes no sense.
A person you just click with
no explanation,
just connection.

We weren’t built
to hold all the answers.
We were built
to stand in awe.
To wonder.
To feel.
To sit in the quiet
and let it speak without words.

Maybe the point
isn’t to understand everything,
but to trust
that not everything needs to be understood
to be real.

Some truths
don’t live in facts.
they live in the way your chest rises
at the sight of the ocean,
or how someone’s voice
can feel like home
even when it says nothing at all.

Let go of needing to know.
And you might finally see.

We are soft things
on a spinning rock,
with hearts too big
for the skin that holds them.

We cry over songs
and laugh in places
we were once broken.
We hold each other like lifelines.
because sometimes,
we are.

Strangers become soulmates
in coffee shop lines,
on sidewalks,
in passing glances that feel like déjà vu.
A shared joke.
A favorite movie.
A song we both scream in the car
with the windows down.
Somehow,
we just get each other.

We create art
from the ache.
Paint galaxies
on bedroom ceilings.
Turn “I miss you”
into music,
and pain
into poetry.

We find beauty
in the ordinary:
sunlight through curtains,
the way someone says our name
softly,
like they mean it.

Yes. there is war.
There is grief.
There is so much we don’t understand.
But there’s also
birthday candles,
random hugs,
midnight walks with friends
who make the silence feel full.

We love so hard
even when we’re scared.
We show up,
even when it hurts.
And when the sky falls,
we rebuild,
together.

So if you ever wonder
what’s still good in this world,
look around:

We’re still laughing.
Still reaching.
Still dancing
in the ruins.
Still human.

And somehow,
that’s enough
to believe in.

You breathe,
and the world shifts.

Not in earthquakes or avalanches,
but in the soft tremors
of someone watching you smile
and deciding to stay
one more day.

You pass a stranger,
and they carry your laughter
into a room
that was too quiet
until you echoed there.

We don’t notice
how much we bleed into each other.
in glances,
in silences,
in words we don’t remember saying
but someone else never forgets.

A comment tossed off
in boredom
becomes a bruise
on someone else’s skin.
A simple “you okay?”
becomes the thread
someone clings to
when they’re unraveling.

We are not islands.
We are oceans.
waves crashing into waves,
pulling and pushing,
changing tides
without even knowing.

So be kind.
Or at least,
be aware.

Because whether you mean to or not,
you leave something
in everyone you touch.

And they leave something in you.

We’re not just living our lives.
we’re shaping them
together.

They say
a butterfly ***** its wings
in a quiet corner of the world.
and halfway across it,
a storm begins.

But no one tells you
how often
you are the butterfly.

The smile you gave
a stranger
on a day they thought of leaving.
The message you didn’t send.
The one you did.
The fight you started.
The hug you almost didn’t give.

How many lives have you altered
without ever knowing?
How many moments have you shaped
by simply existing,
in the right or wrong place,
at the quietest time?

We chase purpose
like it’s some grand, loud thing,
a legacy,
a title,
a monument with our name on it.

But maybe
you already changed the world
when you held the door open
for someone
who swore no one saw them.
When you stayed.
Or when you left.

What a strange kind of power
to ruin or redeem
with things we barely remember doing.

So move gently,
and with meaning.
Not out of fear,
but reverence.
You never know
who’s standing in the storm
your wings created.

Eyes.
they don’t just look,
they speak.
Not in words,
but in storms,
in softness,
in silence that says too much.

You can lie with your mouth,
but your eyes.
they confess.
Every fear,
every ache you’ve buried
behind a smile
lives there.

They hold childhood,
heartbreak,
hope you swore was gone.
They carry the weight
of sleepless nights
and things you couldn’t say
when it mattered most.

You learn to read them.
not the color,
but the story.
Some are locked windows.
Some, open wounds.
Some shimmer with something
you almost recognize—
maybe love,
maybe loneliness.

And sometimes,
you meet a pair
that feels like home.
Not because they’re perfect,
but because they see you
without asking you
to perform.

Eyes.
they don’t need permission
to feel.
And when you meet the right ones,
you don’t need to speak at all.

They burn
millions of miles away.
ancient fires
pinned to velvet black,
soft and distant
yet somehow
deeply ours.

We look up
as if they’re listening,
as if they know our names.
Maybe they do.
Maybe they don’t.
But something about their stillness
makes us speak anyway.

They were there
when we first whispered love,
when we cried into the night,
when we asked the sky
if we’d ever feel whole again.

And they blinked,
silent,
enduring,
not answering,
but not turning away either.

We make wishes
on collapsing light,
hoping the fall
means something.
Maybe it does.
Maybe it’s just our way
of believing
in something beautiful
despite the dark.

Because the stars,
they don’t fix us.
They remind us
we’re small
and that being small
doesn’t mean being unseen.