“Someone you haven’t even met yet is wondering what it’d be like to know someone like you.”
— Iain Thomas
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@1-dit
“Someone you haven’t even met yet is wondering what it’d be like to know someone like you.”
— Iain Thomas
There are thoughts so heavy they punish you simply for having them.
- Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Act
Why does it feel so uncomfortable
just sitting here?
Like something is off,
not loud enough to point at,
but present enough
to not ignore.
A quiet kind of alienation,
where everything around me
feels like an act.
And not a new one,
something rehearsed,
something people have learned
to perform well.
And me—I don’t know
where I stand in it.
Do I keep going—play along,
say the right things,
become a part
of something
that doesn’t feel real?
Or do I withdraw-slowly,
quietly,
before I lose
whatever part of me
still notices this?
Because there’s something
more unsettling than the act—
it’s giving,
and still feeling
like you were never more
than a tool in it.
And I don’t know
what’s worse,
pretending along with it,
or realising it
and staying anyway.
-1-dit
There are thousands of worlds in all of us. Gorgeous, terrible, wild, contradictory, imaginative fascinating worlds. To know someone deeply is to know a universe contained in skin.
What It Is to Be Liked
Between you and me—
it’s you.
You walk into a room and the air shifts,
quietly, without announcement.
People lean in closer,
time rearranges itself around you,
as if being near you
is its own small reward.
I stand just outside that circle
and wonder—
if I step in,
if I become one of those who give without being asked,
would I be crossing a line
I don’t even know how to see?
Isn’t it lovely to be liked—
by friends, by colleagues, by the whole bright world?
Is it the quiet current you carry,
the way your presence
turns ordinary moments into something chosen,
or is it simply
how light seems to find you first?
Do you notice it—
this attention that gathers around you—
or has it become something
you no longer question?
Is there someone out there
whose attention you seek?
And does it matter to you
who notices you most?
When kindness finds you—
easily, repeatedly—
do you feel the weight of it,
or do you simply accept it
as something
that belongs to you?
Time is the only thing
you spend with care.
You decide who is worth the minutes,
who is worth the hours.
You never asked to be liked,
and yet,
you choose—quietly—
who gets to remain.
What does all this attention become?
Does it make you softer,
more aware of yourself,
or does it settle into you
like a quiet kind of power?
And when it fades—
even for a moment—
does the silence feel like rest,
or like something missing?
Something you didn’t realise
you had grown used to?
I am still learning
the difference
between standing near something luminous
and trying to belong to it
without losing myself.
-1-dit
"Treat yourself like you would someone you're responsible for helping "
-JBP
In your freedom, I lost mine
Now you have your freedom,
the kind
I once believed
you already had with me.
Strange,
how I mistook
a glimpse
for the whole.
You were never entirely there,
only in fragments,
only in parts
you thought
I could hold.
And I—
I arrived
without division,
whole,
and unguarded.
I know there is a version of you
that laughs louder,
stays longer,
belongs more easily.
I thought
I had met that person.
Maybe
I never did.
We search for places
that reflect us back
the way we wish to be seen.
Perhaps
I was not
that place for you.
Now there is distance—
soft,
deliberate,
almost kind.
And somewhere in it,
I realise
I was not losing you,
I was losing
the freedom
I thought we shared.
Because while I stood
open,
you were always
on your way
somewhere else. ✨
-1-dit
I'm Fading
Now that your thoughts
don’t seem to find me
as often—
do I slowly fade
from your life?
Would my absence
mean anything to you?
Would you even pause—
even for a second—
or would I pass
like just another name
you used to know?
And what would it mean
for me?
Do I miss you—
or do I miss
the version of me
I became with you?
And when you’re gone,
does that version fade too—
or do I become
someone new?
Tell me—
would you miss me?
Would my name
ever make you smile,
or has it already
softened
into something
replaceable?
Was I ever real to you—
or just a moment
that passed its time?
Was I someone you saw—
or just something
that was there
when it suited you?
I keep asking myself
what I really was.
Because what I was,
I was for me—
and yet,
that “me”
only existed
because of you.
So tell me this—
who is it
that truly loses?
You—
losing a presence
that came and went
without much weight?
Or me—
losing you,
losing the version of myself
I only knew with you?
And if, someday,
you ask me to stay—
would I still be
the same person
who once would have?
or has that version
already faded?
Maybe the answer
was always there—
just not for me
to keep. ✨
-1-dit
"What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness."
Leo Tolstoy
Love is never wasted, for its value does not rest upon reciprocity.
CS Lewis
BE THE LIGHT
There is a kind of magic that does not announce itself.
It does not arrive with noise or spectacle.
It lives quietly inside you
in the way you breathe,
in the way you feel the air shift around you,
in the way your heart hums a song
no one else can hear.
Sometimes, in the middle of everything
between what is and what could have been
you pause.
And in that pause,
you notice the light.
Not the kind that blinds,
but the kind that surrounds.
Soft. Persistent.
Almost as if life itself
is trying to remind you
that it is still here,
still moving through you.
And yet,
woven into that same breath,
is the quiet presence of death.
Not as an end,
but as a boundary
a gentle reminder
that nothing you hold
was ever meant to stay forever.
Maybe that is where the magic lies.
Not in permanence,
but in the fleeting.
In the air you inhale
and let go.
In the moments that pass
before you can name them.
In the song that fades
even as it is being sung.
We spend so much time
trying to leave behind a legacy
something solid,
something remembered.
But perhaps legacy
is not carved in stone.
Perhaps it lives in the unseen
in the way you made someone feel,
in the light you carried,
in the quiet magic
you left behind
in places
you never returned to.
And when all of this is over,
when life loosens its hold
and the song finally ends,
what will remain
is not the noise you made
but the silence you softened,
the air you warmed,
the light you chose
to become. ✨
-1-dit