A solitary confinement, really.
there are two kinds of spaces i carry within me: the window and the mirror.
it feels poetic, almost, to stand like this. half-hidden, half-revealed. i wonder if strangers passing by see what i see; the faint curve of my neck, the sharp angle of my collarbone, the shadows that fold neatly into the hollows of my cheeks.
i wouldn’t dare asking the mirror who’s the prettiest of them all.
while the window flatters me in ways a mirror never could. it lets me believe that i’m part of something larger. the skyline shifting as the day turns golden, like my ‘self’ belongs not just to myself but to the light that shapes me. i think about how i’ll look from now, five years, ten. will i stand like this, admiring the way i see the world and how the world falls in love too much to dream about me?
but on a rainy day, everything blurs. all these glasses don’t promise anything, but it reminds me that i am already here.
2025 wouldn’t be that year of massive healing and thousands of new, unclaimed resolutions as what’s been set in the previous years. i’ve found a new stillness that comes when we stop searching.
when the window no longer tempts you with distant horizons and the mirror no longer asks for answers you don’t have. the world quiets. the questions fall away.
perhaps, there will never be a finish line where everything makes sense.
let’s stop chasing. not success, nor perfection, nor even the version of myself i thought i should be.
some days, the bravest thing you can do is sit still, let the storming skies crest and fall, and trust that the tide knows its way back to calm.
so when the sun rises again, now i know that the answer to everything is that i’ve loved. i’ve been loved and i’ve loved. all the world there is and what’s left is love.
just love.
