There are days when the dawn's light kisses my skin just right, infusing me with the warmth of a world waiting to be embraced. On those days, friendships bloom, hobbies flourish, meals are savored, and chores are effortlessly conquered. My gaze lifts to the sky, filled with gratitude for the life I lead and the person I am.

But then there are days when darkness reigns. Sometimes it's a tempest of hate, other times a deluge of sadness. These emotions rise without warning, like a cliffhanger with no resolution. Publicly displaying this turmoil would only reveal a mind with loose screws, so I keep it hidden. On such days, nothing ventures beyond the door. Clothes remain stained with yesterday's air, friends are neglected, meals are hastily assembled. I am paralyzed, unable to move beyond the overwhelming waves, simply hoping to remain unseen until the storm passes.

I've genuinely been at peace. From the bottom of my heart, I can say that without any signs of dishonesty. However, a creeping feeling of sadness appears when I least expect it, even in my most ecstatic moments. It's like a tiny dot on my heart that never goes away.

Today wasn't exactly what I'd call a stellar day. It wasn't necessarily bad either, just a bit lackluster, I suppose. Overall, life's been treating me well, and I'm genuinely grateful; there's nothing significant to gripe about, really. Yet, like most people, I find myself always yearning for more, and for that, I apologize. I tend to only put pen to paper when things feel rough, so I'm not entirely sure what's brought me here to vent. Work's going smoothly, I've been spending time with friends, indulging in hobbies, and managing my finances. I handle the usual tasks someone my age would. But amidst it all, there's the constant companion of loneliness.

Loneliness has been a steadfast companion throughout my journey. It doesn't matter how much money I have or how many friends surround me; it persists. I wish I could banish it, truly. Yet, no matter what I try, it lingers. I suppose I'm writing to make a mark on my own life, a sort of checkpoint to reflect upon later. I hope that things will change, that the future will bring something different. Whatever it may be, good or bad, I hope it aligns with the desires of my present self.

It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been away, mainly because life has been treating me exceptionally well these past few months. November and December of 2023 turned things around for me after a rather challenging year. Suddenly, it's a new year.

As I mentioned, life has been good — a stable job, peace of mind, and being in my hometown means financial worries are a thing of the past. I've even set some goals for 2024. However, amidst all the positivity, there's one persistent thought: my loneliness. It tends to creep in when everything else seems settled. Despite the calendar flipping to a new year, my sense of companionship remains unchanged.

I fear I won't be leaving the memories of 2023 behind. It's a concern, and I'm only holding on to those connections to avoid the loneliness that haunted me last year. Yet, even with them around, I still feel alone. In a way, I realize I might be running away — from the city's challenges, unhealthy coping mechanisms, bad habits, and the pangs of loneliness. Here in my hometown, I can escape those struggles. However, the city beckons, asking when I'll return. I find myself offering nothing but excuses, at least until I've taken care of my own needs.

I'm content now, a truth I can admit. Feeling lonely doesn't equate to unhappiness. My focus now is on things I can control, which is where my 2024 goals come into play.

It feels unfair that some people have discovered what love is so early in their lives. No, not family love—the kind that’s expected. Families are supposed to love you; it’s the bare minimum. They’re the souls you’re placed on earth to be with, and I have that. But I mean the kind of love that has to be built—the kind rooted in a deep connection, where every small detail matters. Whether it’s the way someone’s smile breaks or how their mind wanders over a simple question—anything, really, that makes you think: This is my person.

Some people find that love long before their first paycheck, their college degree, or even their first phone. And the really lucky ones? They find it so early they barely recognize it as luck. It’s a long journey, they say, growing together while growing apart, navigating arguments, misunderstandings, and miscommunications. A long journey before you realize the person beside you is the one you’ll walk with forever.

The lucky ones rarely see themselves as lucky. But I do. They don’t know what they have—or what others lack.

Those of us who are less fortunate find love in other places. In the cracks of bad luck, in corners of ourselves we never expected, or by simply waiting, hoping that life will bring it our way. I’ve been all of those—floating from feeling to feeling, chasing whatever brings comfort in the moment. They say the love within ourselves is the true purpose of life, the one path to real contentment. And maybe they’re right. But even so, loneliness has a way of creeping in, toppling that self-love when you least expect it.

I guess God is fair. No one gets it all. The lucky ones might find love early but lack in other ways, while the rest of us thrive where they stumble. Maybe that’s just how things are meant to be.

I'm back here again, not that it's a bad thing. I suppose lonely nights have a way of bringing me back to my thoughts. It's a Friday night, and honestly, I'm living my best life at the moment. I have a great job that I excel at, and I regularly spend time with my friends. However, solitary Friday nights always affect me, especially if my plans for the night fell through.

Nevertheless, these lonely Friday nights have made me ponder. It occurs to me that certain people, whom I used to think about so often, may not think of me at all. Who are these people? Well, I don't know exactly. Perhaps those individuals I believed would never forget me due to the way they mistreated me. Despite convincing myself that I am unforgettable and the best thing that happened to them, the truth is, that's a falsehood.

In reality, they will likely find someone better than me—someone kinder, softer, more gentle, and more understanding. Someone who aligns more with their preferences, someone who simply isn't me. I continue to be the girl who was left behind, remaining hurt and perhaps in an even worse state. But regardless, I stay true to who I am, left and gutted. 

If evidence ever surfaced proving the existence of a higher power orchestrating the balance between good and bad, fate and hope, then my life is that proof. The moment arrived when positivity finally knocked on my door, ushering out all the negativity. The phone rang, its tone carrying the promise of hope, and as I answered, a wave of anticipation swept over me. Memories of anxious days, tearful nights, and the constant worry of unemployment flashed before my eyes. I clung to the phone, yearning for this call to be the turning point in my life. Miraculously, it was.

I've never been particularly religious, though I believe with all the sincerity and faith I can muster. The practice, however, has felt burdensome, especially during these past challenging weeks. I found myself resenting the fact that I only sought solace in God during my darkest hours, even though, in reality, turning to Him should never be a burden. I prayed, perhaps not as fervently as I should have, but I prayed nonetheless.

Then came yesterday morning's phone call, a divine proclamation that whispered, "I am here, and this is for you; do not forget me." I never intended to craft a narrative that sounded sanctimonious, but in these moments, my faith in the higher powers resonates loudly within me. Gratitude, thankfulness, and an abundance of faith flood my being. I secured the job I longed for—the very one I fervently prayed for, shedding tears to the heavens. The opportunity presented itself, radiating in all its glory, and now my new life begins.

Suddenly, the bad days lose their sting, the dark times appear conquerable, and every fiber of my being trusts in the trajectory of my life.

I promised myself I wouldn't write about temporary people, especially those I know will only be a fleeting presence in my life. But it's a promise I've never been able to keep. So here I am, wide awake at 4 am, putting my thoughts to words about you. I've been trying to distract myself from this, but every time I see you, I can't help but feel a deep longing. I want to know you better, open up to you, and have you in my life in some way. I'm well aware we've been through this countless times before.

I can't deceive myself by claiming there's no one else like you out there. In all honesty, I'm sure there are many who share your way of thinking, speaking, and responding. But after each encounter with you, I can't help but want you all over again. This feeling has persisted since the first time we met, even when we were both seeing other people. I doubt I'll ever get to express this to you directly, but at least I can share it here.

You strike me as someone with whom I could spend hours conversing, or simply listening to your thoughts and stories. Your perspective on the world, your insights into how it should work, your tales from 10th grade, and your nuggets of life advice, despite your youth, all captivate me. I'm not typically drawn to younger individuals, but there's something about you that's different. I can't say for certain what it would be like if we were together, but I'm willing to give it a try.

– ⚽

Seeking Inspiration

It has come to a point in my blogging journey where I find myself in need of fresh ideas. I'm currently at a creative crossroads, which is surprising considering I used to make a living out of writing blogs. It's a bit perplexing because I can't quite pinpoint my niche anymore.

Embracing Spontaneity

I've evolved into a more spontaneous writer, allowing my emotions and passions to guide my words. While I understand that this isn't a full-fledged career, it still holds immense personal value for me. There's an undeniable sense of gratification that comes with expressing my thoughts and feelings, even if it feels like no one's reading.

The Pitfalls of Overthinking

But the moment I start overthinking and exerting too much effort into finding the right words, that's when my content takes a nosedive in quality. It's disheartening to admit, but I fear this very post might be headed in that direction.

The Ominous Silence

The process feels increasingly monotonous, and my mind seems eerily silent. Some might argue that this silence is a form of peace, a chance for introspection. Yet, I see it as nothing less than writer's block, an obstacle I must overcome to rediscover my passion and creativity.