lately, i’ve been thinking about all the versions of myself i’ve left behind. the kid who thought life would start once he got older. the teenager who was convinced he had everything figured out. the young adult who thought every heartbreak would be the last one. i don’t miss them exactly. but i think about them. i think about the people too. the ones who stayed. the ones who left. the ones who arrived unexpectedly and changed something without ever realizing it. a friend who

I used to think being wanted was enough. A message at midnight. An invitation when plans fell through. A call when loneliness became too loud to ignore. For a long time, I mistook access for affection. I thought that if someone kept coming back, it meant I mattered. But people return to many things. They return to familiar songs. To old habits. To restaurants they know by heart. To places that ask nothing of them. Returning is not the same as choosing. And that realization ar

It’s been a while since my last post. A lot happened in between. I left for a holiday thinking I just needed rest, but somewhere between airports, unfamiliar streets, late night conversations, and waking up in places that did not know my name, something in me softened again. I tried new things. Ate food I could not pronounce properly. Met people who knew nothing about my past, and somehow that felt freeing. There is something beautiful about being seen without history attache