People say, "Learn to be alone." They paint a picture of solitude as an idyllic sanctuary, where one can revel in the tranquility of their own company. "Enjoy your solitude, find a hobby," they say. "Find peace in your alone time." And yet, here I stand, having done all that for what feels like an eternity.

I have mastered the art of navigating the depths of isolation. I have traversed through the darkest corners of my existence, walking the lonely path through the shadows of my own mind. I have faced the demons that reside within, battling them with sheer resilience and unwavering determination. Through it all, I have been my own unwavering companion, picking up the shattered pieces of my soul, one fragment at a time.

But now, here I am, exhausted and depleted. The weariness has seeped into the marrow of my bones, and my spirit yearns for something more. It's not about wanting to be with someone, nor is it an inability to find solace in my own solitude. No, it runs deeper than that. I am simply sick of it all at this point.

I yearn for the warmth of human connection, the gentle touch that mends the fractures in my heart. I crave the laughter shared between kindred souls, the comfort of knowing that I am not alone in this vast, bewildering universe. It's the simple joy of sharing life's moments with someone who truly understands, someone who sees the world through the same kaleidoscope of emotions.

For so long, I have been a lone voyager, navigating uncharted waters with no lighthouse in sight. I have tasted the bitter sting of solitude and carried its weight upon my weary shoulders. But now, the weight has become too heavy, and my soul longs for respite from the burdens it has carried for far too long.

Now you're just another one of my problems. Life has a funny way of twisting and turning, leading us down unexpected paths. Once upon a time, you were everything to me, a beacon of light in my world. But now, you've become another weight on my shoulders.

I can still recall the days when our laughter filled the air, when we believed we could conquer anything together. Our love was once a tapestry of dreams, woven with hope and passion. But slowly, like the erosion of a mountain, our foundation began to crumble.

The fractures in our relationship were subtle at first, unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. We drifted apart, like two ships sailing in opposite directions, clinging only to fading memories. The love that held us together slipped through our grasp, leaving behind only regrets.

Every conversation became a struggle, filled with misunderstandings and frustration. We sought solace in each other's arms, but our touch felt hollow, devoid of the warmth that once ignited our souls. The flame that burned so brightly had extinguished, leaving behind only ashes.

And now, here we stand, facing the reality of what we've become. Laughter no longer echoes through the halls; instead, tears and arguments fill the silence. You were once the solution to my problems, but now, you've become one of them.

Yet, amidst the chaos, a part of me clings to the memories of our past. I remember your laughter, your smile that could light up the darkest room. It's hard to let go of something that was once beautiful, even when it's broken.

This month has been rather rough, to be honest. It feels like I'm caught in a slump, with one dreary day blending into the next. And when I reflect on this entire year, it's hard to find much to celebrate. It's been a string of disappointments, one after another. I find myself anxiously waiting for that sudden spike, a glimmer of hope that has often come to my rescue in the past. Will things finally take a turn for the better, or will this dreary state of affairs persist throughout the year?

I can't help but hope, even if it's a flicker of hope buried deep within me. It's a reminder of the strength and resilience I've demonstrated in the face of adversity before. However, the challenges I've faced this year have been particularly draining, testing the very core of my spirit.

That sudden spike, that unexpected stroke of luck that has always managed to uplift me—will it grace my life once again? It's like a ray of sunshine piercing through the storm clouds, bringing a renewed sense of joy and ease. I long for that feeling of elation when everything falls into place effortlessly, aligning with my desires.

Yet, as the days pass by, doubts creep in. Will this year defy the patterns I've come to expect? Will I be left to grapple with this cycle of hardship and disappointment? It's a haunting thought, threatening to overshadow the hope I cling to so desperately.

You know, it's funny how people from your past can sometimes paint a picture of you that's so outdated, it's practically a relic. It's like they're stuck in a time warp, holding onto memories that no longer reflect who you are today. So, if you ever happen to hear someone talking about me, just remember that they're describing a version of me they haven't bothered to get to know.

Sure, I've changed. We all do. Life molds us, shapes us into different beings with each passing experience. I'm not the same person I was back then, back when those individuals shared a piece of my story. They might recall the old quirks, the youthful dreams, and the insecurities that plagued me at the time. But they can't possibly grasp the growth I've undergone, the layers I've shed, and the wisdom I've acquired along the way.

It's like catching a glimpse of an old photograph and assuming that the frozen moment captures the entirety of who I am. But there's so much more to me than those faded snapshots. I've ventured through uncharted territories, tasted both triumph and defeat, and discovered a depth of resilience I never knew I possessed.

So, when they talk about me, listen with a grain of salt. Let their words pass through the filter of time and distance. Understand that they may cling to outdated narratives because change is uncomfortable, and embracing the unfamiliar is daunting. They may hold onto the past because it's familiar and safe.

There was a time when I found myself desperately pleading for someone to love me the way I loved them, and it remains one of the most heart-wrenching experiences of my life. The depths of my vulnerability were unfathomable as I laid bare my emotions, hoping against hope that they would reciprocate my affection. It was a humbling act, one that I had never imagined I would resort to.

Each day, I poured my heart out to them, showering them with an abundance of adoration and tenderness. I selflessly offered my love, as though it were a rare and precious treasure, longing for them to understand the magnitude of my feelings. But, alas, my efforts were in vain. I found myself begging, as if begging could compel someone to love you back.

In that moment, I compromised my own sense of self, relinquishing my dignity for a glimmer of hope. It was a bitter realization that love cannot be coerced or won through desperate pleas. Love is an organic, natural force that must flow freely, unencumbered by manipulation or force. I had lost sight of my own worth, allowing my heart to be overshadowed by the shadows of unrequited desire.

Perhaps there is merit in suffering, for it is from the depths of pain that an artist's true expression emerges. Can one truly create if consumed by unyielding happiness? Would the desire to create even exist? After all, what is art but a defiant protest against the harshness of life?

From my perspective, suffering serves a purpose in my artistic journey. It is during my darkest moments that my creativity flourishes. The weight of my anguish becomes the foundation upon which I build my art, each piece reflecting the depth of my emotions.

Art, in its essence, is a rebellion against the cruelties and uncertainties of existence. With every brushstroke or written word, I challenge the oppressive forces that surround me. My work becomes a vessel for the pain I endure, a testament to my resilience.

In the midst of sorrow, I find solace in my art. It is through my suffering that I discover the true depth of my creativity. The gloom and chaos of my mind become a canvas, where I translate my torment into visual or literary form. The result is a chaotic beauty, an echo of the turbulent symphony within me.

In contrast, when happiness envelops me, my artistic impulse dwindles. The brightness of the world, the laughter and warmth, offer little stimulation. How can I create something meaningful when my hands lack the imprints of tears? How can I compose when my heart has forgotten the melody of agony?

It is in suffering that my inspiration finds its source. The depths of my despair provide the wellspring from which I draw. Each stroke of the brush or word written carries the weight of my longing. Through suffering, I am compelled to transmute pain into something profound.

I remember the days when it was just you and me, entwined in the delicate dance of love's embrace. We would talk for hours, sharing our deepest thoughts and dreams. Your words painted a vivid portrait of our future, a tapestry of hope and togetherness. In those moments, I saw the best of you, and I loved every part.

But little did I know, there was a secret you held close, a betrayal concealed within your heart. You'd talk to her, even when we were together. Our connection wasn't enough to satisfy your hunger for her presence. Despite my unwavering love, you sought solace in her words, her laughter, and her touch. You craved something beyond what we had, and that shattered my soul.

I loved you at your worst, when your flaws were laid bare and vulnerability took hold. Through the storms of life, I stood by your side, offering comfort and understanding. I believed in the power of love, in its ability to heal and transform. But as I held you in your darkest moments, it seemed that my devotion meant nothing. The depths of my love were not enough to outweigh the allure of another.

It took you only two weeks to cast aside the promises we made and embrace a new connection with her. Two weeks of lies and deceit, while I remained oblivious to the truth. You didn't technically cheat, but you became a traitor to the love we shared. You broke the unspoken code of loyalty, trading our intimate bond for a fleeting connection with her.

1. Traitor - Olivia Rodrigo
2. Cool for the Summer (Rock Version) - Demi Lovato
3. Memories - Conan Gray
4. happier than ever - Loveless
5. Japanese Denim - Daniel Caesar
6. Ceilings - Lizzy McAlpine
7. Fingers Crossed - Lauren Spencer Smith
8. Fall in Love with You. - Montell Fish
9. Girls Need Love (Remix) - Summer Walker, Drake
10. THE LONELIEST - Måneskin
11. Mr. Watson - Cruel Youth
12. Evergreen (You Didn’t Deserve Me At All) - Omar Apollo
13. Starlight - Muse
14. Team - Lorde
15. Die For You - Joji 

I don't blame you, but sometimes I wish we never met. It's not because you've caused me any harm or inflicted pain upon my heart. No, it's quite the opposite. You've brought me joy, love, and an array of emotions I never thought possible. But there are moments when the weight of our connection becomes too much to bear, and I find myself yearning for a life untouched by your presence.

Do you remember the first time our paths crossed? It was as if the universe conspired to bring us together, weaving our lives into an intricate tapestry of shared moments and shared dreams. I was drawn to your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes danced with a spark of mischief. And in that instant, I knew my world would never be the same.

But as time goes on, I can't help but wonder what life would have been like if our destinies had never intertwined. Would I still have the same restless nights, longing for your touch? Would my heart ache with the bittersweet melodies of memories we created, only to fade away like whispers in the wind?

You see, it's not that I regret our connection. It's that I often question if our paths were meant to merge, if our love was destined to be entangled in this cosmic dance. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, when silence envelops my thoughts, I ponder the possibility of a life untouched by the heartache that accompanies such profound affection.

In this alternate reality, I imagine myself as a solitary figure, wandering through the labyrinth of life without the echoes of your laughter in my ears. The ache in my chest dissipates, replaced by an unfamiliar emptiness. Yet, at times, even this void seems less daunting than the swirling tempest of emotions that accompany our connection.

But then, my mind drifts back to the memories we've built together. The warmth of your embrace, the tenderness of your words, and the way your presence brings solace to my weary soul. In those moments, I'm reminded of the depth of our bond, the love that courses through my veins, and the joy that you bring to my life.

So, my dear, while there are moments when I wish we never met, they are fleeting thoughts, washed away by the tide of affection that anchors me to you. I don't blame you for the complexities of our connection. Instead, I embrace the beauty and the challenges that come with loving you.

For in the end, it's the intertwining of our lives that shapes us into the individuals we are today. It's the shared laughter, the tears shed in each other's arms, and the growth that blossoms from our union. And even though the road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, I choose to walk it hand in hand with you, grateful for the love we share, despite the fleeting whispers of an alternate reality where we never met.

I guess I found one difference between me now and the old me. Looking back at my old entries, I was constantly blaming myself. Constantly. For loving too much, when emoting the slightest emotion, for being valid, for just existing, I felt the need to blame myself. And reading it now makes me feel so, so sorry for her. All that apologizing was so unnecessary, and to be frank, those I apologized to deserved no such thing.

I'm not saying now I am unaware of the things I'm clearly in the wrong for, but I know what I'm allowed to feel. I'm allowed to love loudly and cry when I want to. I'm allowed to be offended. I'm allowed to feel things, goddammit.

In the past, I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders, as if every misstep, every stumble, was entirely my fault. I would internalize the pain, the hurt, and convince myself that it was my inadequacy that caused it all. I'd weave a web of self-blame, entangling my heart in a never-ending cycle of remorse.

But now, I see things differently. I've come to understand that I am not responsible for the actions and emotions of others. I am not the sole architect of my own happiness or anyone else's. I have learned that my existence alone is not a burden or a problem to be solved.

It's liberating, this newfound realization. It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a world where my emotions are valid, where I am allowed to take up space and express myself authentically. I no longer need to apologize for my tears or my laughter, for the depth of my love or the strength of my convictions.

I can love fiercely, passionately, without restraint. I can feel joy and sadness, anger and excitement, without the suffocating weight of guilt pressing down on me. I can speak my mind and stand my ground, unapologetically. I can be unapologetically me.

It's a gradual process, shedding the layers of self-blame and learning to embrace my own worth. But with each passing day, I grow stronger in my conviction that I am allowed to be human, with all the messy, beautiful emotions that come with it.

So, to the old me, I say this: I'm sorry for the unnecessary apologies. I'm sorry for shouldering the blame that was never mine to bear. But I'm grateful for the journey, for the lessons learned along the way. And now, I stand here, unburdened by the need to blame myself, ready to embrace life with open arms and an open heart.

For I know that I am deserving of love, of happiness, of every emotion that courses through my veins. And from this day forward, I will live boldly, unafraid to feel, unafraid to be me.

The morning after I tried killing myself, I found myself waking up to a world that felt indifferent to my existence. As I opened my eyes, the room was cloaked in a dim, melancholic light, casting long shadows across the walls. I expected the air to feel different, as if life had suddenly taken on a newfound vibrance, but it didn't. The skies weren't extra blue, nor were they filled with hope. They remained an unyielding expanse of gray, mirroring the heaviness in my heart.

The sounds of the streets outside carried on as they always had, a chaotic symphony of car engines, distant conversations, and hurried footsteps. But they didn't bring solace to my weary soul. The clamor seemed to grow louder, each noise a reminder of the life I so desperately wanted to escape. It felt as though the world had turned its back on me, its indifference a crushing weight upon my fragile shoulders.

The pain of the night before still clung to my body, a persistent ache that seeped into my bones. It was a physical manifestation of the turmoil within, a constant reminder of the depths from which I had tried to claw my way out. The wounds on my skin, still fresh and raw, served as scars of my battle with darkness. They whispered stories of despair, etched upon my flesh, and I couldn't escape their haunting presence.

The feeling of failure gnawed at my soul, its relentless grip tightening with each passing moment. I had hoped that the morning sun would bring clarity, that it would wash away the doubts and self-recrimination. But instead, I found myself drowning in a sea of remorse, unable to shake off the weight of my perceived inadequacies. The echoes of my perceived shortcomings reverberated in my mind, taunting me, mocking me.

In that desolate morning, I realized that the morning after isn't always a magical turning point. It's not always a moment of epiphany or a gateway to newfound appreciation for life. Sometimes, it's just another agonizing step in a long, winding journey. It's a reminder that healing takes time, that the scars we carry cannot be erased overnight.

But within the depths of despair, a flicker of hope remained, fragile yet resilient. It whispered of the possibility of healing, of growth, of finding solace in unexpected places. It reminded me that the journey was far from over, that there were still chapters left to write, stories yet to be told.

And so, with each passing day, I held onto that flicker of hope. I reached out for help, leaning on the kindness and compassion of others. I sought solace in art, in nature, and in the quiet moments of introspection. Slowly, imperceptibly, the pain began to lose its grip, and the darkness began to recede.

The morning after may not have been a miraculous transformation, but it was a small step forward—a testament to resilience and the enduring spirit of the human soul. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of moments, there is still the possibility of finding light. And with that glimmer of hope, I vowed to keep moving forward, to embrace the struggle, and to continue the arduous journey towards healing.

Where ambition can sometimes overshadow compassion, these extraordinary souls have become my guiding lights. They see beyond the facade of titles and hierarchy, understanding that true growth lies not in solitary advancement but in collective progress. They extend their hands not to push me down, but to uplift me, knowing that our achievements are intertwined, woven together in a tapestry of shared accomplishments.

When the weight of deadlines and expectations threatens to engulf my spirit, it is their unwavering support that steadies my trembling heart. They lend me their ears, listening earnestly to my ideas and concerns, nurturing them with empathy and understanding. Their encouragement breathes life into my aspirations, igniting the fire within me to strive harder, to dream bigger.

But it is not just in moments of triumph that their care shines. In times of adversity, they are my pillars of strength, standing firm beside me when the storm clouds gather. They offer their wisdom, their experiences, and their lessons learned, helping me navigate the treacherous terrain of challenges with resilience and grace. They share their vulnerabilities, revealing that even amidst their accomplishments, they too have faced doubts and setbacks. In their stories of resilience, I find solace, knowing that my journey is not one of isolation but of shared experiences.

I hope to wander through the corridors of your mind, leaving traces of my existence that stir a tempest within your soul. Yet, not in the gentle caress of fond memories, but rather in a way that unveils the jagged edges of your actions and brings forth a poignant ache you fail to grasp. May my presence be a haunting reminder of how callously you treated me, a mirror to reflect upon the darkness you once bestowed upon my heart.

I yearn to occupy your thoughts, not as a beacon of longing, but as a specter of realization. Let the weight of my absence fall upon your shoulders, unveiling the depth of your transgressions. For you see, no other soul could heal you as I did. No other being possessed the power to mold your essence into something greater, to ignite the flame of your potential. I crave that moment when the truth dawns upon you, an epiphany that I was the key to unlocking your hidden depths.

With each passing girl, I hope to dance upon the periphery of your consciousness. As their allure captivates your gaze, may it be my essence that whispers in your ear, reminding you of the void left by my departure. And as melodies fill the air, every note, every hum, every lyrical verse, I long to infiltrate your mind, threading myself within the fabric of your thoughts. Let my essence be intertwined with the very essence of your being, an inescapable presence that resonates within your core.

Even the mundane aspects of life should serve as reminders of my absence. When you open a book and lose yourself in its pages, may my name flutter across your mind, a pang of longing that stains each word. The strands of your hair, once touched by my fingers, should carry the weight of my memory. And when you savor your favorite meal, its taste should awaken the regret within you, a bitter aftertaste of what you let slip through your grasp.

Above all, I hope my phantom presence pushes you to the precipice of sanity. May the guilt you bear become an overwhelming burden, threatening to shatter the fragile fragments of your mind. Let it consume your thoughts, torment your dreams, and drive you to the brink of desperation. For in that darkness, perhaps you will understand the magnitude of your actions, and the magnitude of the love you discarded so carelessly.

Every time I think about you, a flame of anger dances within me, casting a shadow over the remnants of what we once had. It's a peculiar sensation, a fusion of resentment and longing, as if my heart is torn between two worlds. Seeing you happy, oblivious to the pain you caused, intensifies this mix of emotions, forcing me to question the fairness of life.

In the recesses of my mind, thoughts of you linger, but not in the way one might expect. It's not a desperate yearning for your return, nor an echo of lost affection. No, it's a haunting remembrance of how dare you. How dare you inflict such wounds upon my soul, leaving scars that may never fully heal.

I don't love you anymore. That's a truth I've come to accept, like the setting sun bidding farewell to the day. The love we once shared has withered, evaporating like morning dew beneath the scorching rays of reality. Yet, despite this newfound liberation from the chains of affection, there remains an odd fascination with your presence in my thoughts.

You see, you're like an enigmatic character in a novel, someone whose actions and motives provoke both frustration and intrigue. It's as if the ink that writes your story carries a bittersweet charm, drawing my pen to narrate the fragments of our shattered connection. Though the love has faded, the power you hold within my imagination remains captivating.

Maybe it's the contradiction that lies at the heart of human nature—the intertwining of resentment and fascination. It's a paradox we can all relate to, for we've all encountered moments of injustice, moments that make us question the cosmic fairness of it all. It's through this lens that my words seek to resonate with those who have known the sting of betrayal and the confusion of emotions that follow.

And so, I write about you. I write to unleash the fury and anguish that still linger within, to give voice to the thoughts and feelings that refuse to be silenced. Each word is a brushstroke on the canvas of my catharsis, an attempt to navigate the complexities of our shared history and the aftermath of your actions.

In this process, I find solace and healing, for writing grants me the power to redefine our narrative. It allows me to transform pain into art, to extract meaning from the chaos of emotions. You become a muse, a character upon whom I project my frustrations and aspirations, as I mold and shape the story that once held us together.

So, as the chapters of my life turn, and the memories of you fade into the distance, I no longer hold onto love, but rather the lessons learned. And you, my dear, become a captivating figure in the tapestry of my writing—fascinating, yet ultimately distant.

I honestly, it feels great to reconnect with my creative side purely for the joy of it, rather than for work. This week, I've been writing, blogging, editing pictures just for fun, dabbling in digital scrapbooking, and even creating a playlist for pure enjoyment. It's like I've been transported back to 2017, when creativity flowed effortlessly.

In addition, I dyed my hair blue yesterday and snapped a few pictures. It's amazing how something as simple as changing my hair color can make me feel good about myself, and surprisingly, I don't feel weighed down by depression.

This newfound creative energy has rekindled a sense of vitality within me. It's as if I've unlocked a hidden reservoir of inspiration that was waiting to be tapped into. Engaging in these activities has brought back a certain zest for life, reminiscent of a vibrant painting bursting with color. 

It's 3:26 am, and I'm currently immersed in the soothing melodies of "Hotel" by Montell Fish. I find myself at a loss for words, but I'm attempting to pour out my emotions onto the screen, as if my fingers haven't expressed my innermost thoughts in quite some time. So here it goes...

Once again, I was left behind. It no longer surprises me, though it still stings. It doesn't hurt as intensely as the last time, but the pain lingers. We began talking in January, and truth be told, things weren't great even then. Yet, it felt comforting to have someone who understood how I felt. He was kind and reassuring, or so it seemed. However, he remained largely unavailable. The reassurance he offered turned out to be woven with lies and manipulation.

We couldn't progress further due to the turmoil of his parents' divorce, and reluctantly, I accepted that reality. With a heavy heart, I embraced it. Little did I know that a month later, another person's name would appear on his Instagram. It wasn't so much about him, but rather the recurrence of the same feeling of unworthiness that pierced my soul.

Apart from that, life seems to be okay. Work is just work, nothing extraordinary. I find myself with an increasing amount of idle time, lacking something to truly look forward to.

I find solace in the simplicity of my existence. For I believe, deep within the depths of my soul, that I was put on this earth for a purpose so beautifully uncomplicated. It is a purpose that resonates with the hearts of many, embracing the essence of relatability.

To love and nourish my feline companion, whose soft purrs and gentle gaze bring forth an indescribable joy within my being. In her presence, I have found an unwavering source of companionship and a love that transcends the boundaries of language. In this sacred bond, we navigate life together, reminding each other of the profound significance of unconditional love.

To lose myself in the pages of ancient books, their weathered covers revealing the treasures of countless narratives. As I turn each page, I am transported to far-off lands, traversing time and space alongside remarkable characters. These books are not mere ink on paper but gateways to alternate realities, captivating my imagination and enriching my soul with every word absorbed.

To savor the aromatic embrace of morning coffee, its tantalizing scent awakening my senses and invigorating my spirit. With each sip, I am infused with a comforting warmth that permeates my entire being. It is a ritual that marks the beginning of a new day, providing me with the strength and fortitude to face the challenges that lie ahead, one caffeinated moment at a time.

To don big, tattered sweaters on languid weekends, embracing their oversized embrace as a shield against the demands of the world. In their comforting folds, I find sanctuary from the expectations and pressures of society. It is a reminder that self-care is a cherished necessity, allowing me to indulge in comfort and simply be myself, unapologetically.

To fill the pages of my journal with keepsakes, those precious moments and musings that etch themselves upon the tapestry of my existence. In the act of writing, I weave the threads of my thoughts, hopes, and fears, creating a vivid tapestry of my innermost self. These words, inked onto paper, become a testament to my journey, a testament that whispers, "You are here, and you matter."

For in these seemingly ordinary pursuits lies a profound truth. We find solace in the simplicity of life's little joys, the embrace of love, the worlds contained within books, the warmth of coffee, the comfort of well-worn garments, and the sacred act of documenting our experiences. It is within these moments that we discover our true selves and connect with the universal longing for contentment and purpose.