Everything good in my life would come from my ability to leave everything I once knew.
Game of Thrones Daily
Three Goblin Art
No title available
ojovivo
Stranger Things

izzy's playlists!
Not today Justin

Discoholic đȘ©
Mike Driver
Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopiaïœæ”·ăźćșă§èšæ¶ă玥ă
Show & Tell
Claire Keane

Kaledo Art
taylor price
sheepfilms
trying on a metaphor

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Philippines
seen from France

seen from Australia

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from United States
seen from T1

seen from Malaysia

seen from France

seen from Egypt
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from T1

seen from Romania
seen from T1
seen from T1
@asleavesfall
Everything good in my life would come from my ability to leave everything I once knew.
I heard a legend which says: when you go to heaven, God will ask you two questions. If you answer 'yes' to both questions, you can be reborn as a human in your next life. One question is, 'were you happy with your life?' and the other question is, 'were other people happy because of you?'
I am leaving you now. It's not because I don't like you. I will also think that you didn't do it because you disliked me. But we were both so hurt, weren't we? Our scars are too big, both of us. I don't want to resent you while looking at my scars. I don't want to hear about your resentment, either. But, I still have to thank you. I feel like I grew, as big as my scars.
"My heart wants to."
Of all the sentences I heard in my life, it was the most perfect. It was a perfect reason that couldn't be questioned or argued with.
i used to think flowers werenât for me. iâve loved before. loudly. endlessly. looked at petals with awe, memorised the shape of beauty but never held any that were given to me.
and now, thereâs you. no occasion, no grand gesture, no apology behind it. just because. just because you saw them and thought of me. just because love, to you, looks like this.
and i think thatâs what undoes me the most. that love doesnât always have to arrive screaming or prove itself through ache. sometimes it just comes home with flowers and the world goes quiet in the softest way.
he cheated on me.
and for a while, that truth sat heavy in my chest.
not because i wanted him back
but because i had given so much of myself to something that was never really mine.
but hereâs the thing i didnât expect:
iâm okay now.
actually⊠iâm better.
iâm lighter. freer.
like i finally exhaled after holding my breath for too long.
thereâs no anger left in me.
just this quiet kind of gratitude.
because him leaving?
was the beginning of me coming back to myself.
someone else loves me now.
fully. gently. without conditions.
and i never have to wonder if iâm too much or not enough.
i never have to explain why i need reassurance or apologize for feeling deeply.
it just feels easy.
safe.
like this is what love was always supposed to be.
and still, parts of him linger.
in the way i set the lighting in my room,
in the way my camera lens leans toward softness and shadows.
his aesthetic left a mark.
but itâs mine now.
iâve made it mine.
we werenât right for each other.
we werenât meant to last.
but we were meant, maybe.
for a season. a lesson.
and thatâs okay.
not every love has to end in forever to be real.
i donât wish him harm.
i donât wish heâd stayed.
i just hope he finds someone who sees him fully.
who loves him in the way he wants, the way he needs.
because closure doesnât always come with a dramatic ending.
sometimes, it looks like peace.
like soft mornings and someone elseâs hand in mine.
like looking back and feeling nothing but a quiet gratitude.
i catch myself doing things the way he used to. lighting candles at golden hour, taking photos with that soft, melancholy tint he loved. that moody, film-like aesthetic - yeah, it stuck with me. and i hate the part of me that still speaks in a language i learned from him. but i also donât. because some of it was beautiful. we were beautiful, in that doomed, almost kind of way. we werenât right for each other. and maybe thatâs the saddest part... how you can care so deeply for someone who just wasnât your person, no matter how much you tried.
I think I left too many things unattended. Tiny things, quiet things, pieces of myself I told Iâd come back for later. And now I donât even remember what they were. I just know somethingâs missing. Like a shadow in a corner you canât see but you feel.
The memories are blurred but the feelings... theyâve stayed. Theyâve taken root in me - tangled and restless, like vines climbing over walls I never meant to abandon. Sometimes it feels like my whole chest is just a room filled with loose threads, none of them tied, all of them pulling at me at once.
And itâs strange, how you can forget the reasons but still carry the weight.
His presence didnât demand anything from me - it just made space. And in that space, I softened. I stopped bracing for the worst. I stopped apologizing for needing gentleness. I think thatâs what love is, the real kind. The kind that doesnât arrive with fireworks but with quiet hands and steady eyes. The kind that doesnât ask you to be more, but reminds you that you already are.
I am forgetting.
I am forgetting everything.
It started with small things - where I left my glasses, the name of that song you used to hum while cooking. I laughed it off at first. Everyone forgets. But then it grew. The forgetting became a fog, thick and slow, curling around the corners of my mind.
Yesterday, I found an old diary in the back of my closet. The leather was cracked, the pages yellowed. I didnât remember writing in it, but the handwriting was mine - looped and uneven, the way it always was when I was excited or nervous.
I flipped through the pages until one stopped me cold.
âTonight, I told you I loved you. You didnât say it back right away. You just looked at me, like you were trying to memorize the moment. And then you smiled. That smile. You said, âI was waiting for you to say it first.â I think Iâll remember this forever.â
I read it again. And again.
But it felt like I was reading about someone elseâs life.
Someone braver. Someone who once knew how to love without fear.
I tried to picture your face in that moment.
I tried to hear your voice.
But all I could summon was a vague warmth, like sunlight through a closed window.
No details. No edges. Just the ghost of a feeling.
I sat there for a long time, holding the diary like it might anchor me to something real.
But the truth settled in quietly, like dust:
I am forgetting you.
Not just your face or your voice,
but the way it felt to be yours.
And the worst part?
I donât know if Iâm more afraid of forgetting everything,
or remembering just enough to know what Iâve lost.
I didnât want to believe you were cruel. Because if you were, then what did that make me? Maybe I wasnât defending you. Maybe I was just trying to protect the part of myself that chose you.