There are billions of faces
in this spinning world,
but not one
is yours.

Not one laughs like you,
thinks like you,
dreams in your exact colors.
Your voice is a note
never sung before.
not quite like this,
not quite by anyone.

You are a fingerprint
pressed gently into time.
Unrepeatable.
Unrehearsed.
The only version of your soul
this world will ever meet.

It’s wild.

To be made of stars
and blood
and memory.
but arranged in a way
that has never existed before
and never will again.

You are a once in forever echo.
And while you walk among millions,
no one can carry your story
the way you do.

And never forget:

You are not just “another.”

You are the only.

When the world goes quiet,
and the body surrenders.
where do you go?

In sleep,
we fall through time
without falling,
touch faces
we’ve never seen,
grieve things
that never happened.
And still,
we wake up aching.
Why?

What if dreams
aren’t just brain static or broken memories,
but something sacred,
an ancient language
your soul still remembers
even if you don’t?

You float.
You fall.
You fly.
You meet people
you’ve never seen,
but somehow you know them.
Places you’ve never been
feel more like home
than the house you wake up in.

What if every dream
is a message,
a mirror,
a map.
but only if you’re still enough
to listen?

What if they mean something?
What if they mean everything?

And maybe
we’ll never know for sure.
But still,
each night,
we close our eyes
and enter that strange, sacred place
as if we’re trying
to remember
something the daylight
won’t let us see.

Some say your soul leaves your body at night
and wanders.
Touches other worlds.
Crosses timelines.
Meets souls it once knew
before the name you wear now
existed.

Maybe,
what we call “sleep”
is the real awakening.

And waking up?
That’s the dream
we keep returning to.

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.