Ashtray

Words for the moments you feel alone but aren’t

[aurethiaaflame]

You can only ever pretend that someone leaving doesn’t hurt or absolutely tear you apart from inside. You can only show how strong you are. You can only distract yourself from everything happening around you. You can only distract yourself from the thunderstorm that’s destroying everything in you.

How do you tell yourself that it’s gonna be alright when you deep down know it won’t. How do you convince yourself to keep trying when there’s no hope left. How?

[aurethiaaflame]

They say all you have is yourself, especially when everything else slips away, but what happens when the hard times arrive and you are no longer there to meet them—when you are a stranger to your own hands, unsure how to hold or be held? How do you whisper that it will be okay when you don’t believe in the promise of “okay” anymore, when hope feels like something meant for someone brighter, someone intact? You try to turn inward, to run toward yourself, but there is no open door, only a quiet, unfamiliar distance, because you spent so long loving only the luminous version—the one who wins, who smiles, who knows what comes next, who fits neatly into admiration—that you never learned the language of your own breaking. And now the other self, the softer, unraveling one you kept tucked away, is no longer silent; it is pressing against your ribs, asking for air, and you do not know how to answer because you never gave it space to breathe. The light you once carried feels dim, almost decorative, unable to reach the depth of this darkness, a darkness that settles and stays, thick and patient. And somewhere in it, a thought flickers, fragile and late—you should have made room for this too—but it arrives after the room has already filled with shadows, after you have already forgotten the way back to yourself.

[speechlessparrot]

I'll be honest, as much as I wanna read this and understand how you feel, the length of this blog makes me hungry. I'm gonna read this tomorrow. GREAT WORK THO IM SO PROUD OF YOU I BET THIS IS ANOTHER MASTERPIECE!!!

[aurethiaaflame]

They say all you have is yourself, especially when everything else slips away, but what happens when the hard times arrive and you are no longer there to meet them—when you are a stranger to your own hands, unsure how to hold or be held? How do you whisper that it will be okay when you don’t believe in the promise of “okay” anymore, when hope feels like something meant for someone brighter, someone intact? You try to turn inward, to run toward yourself, but there is no open door, only a quiet, unfamiliar distance, because you spent so long loving only the luminous version—the one who wins, who smiles, who knows what comes next, who fits neatly into admiration—that you never learned the language of your own breaking. And now the other self, the softer, unraveling one you kept tucked away, is no longer silent; it is pressing against your ribs, asking for air, and you do not know how to answer because you never gave it space to breathe. The light you once carried feels dim, almost decorative, unable to reach the depth of this darkness, a darkness that settles and stays, thick and patient. And somewhere in it, a thought flickers, fragile and late—you should have made room for this too—but it arrives after the room has already filled with shadows, after you have already forgotten the way back to yourself.

[aurethiaaflame]

At times, simply seeing things as they truly are can feel like the only solid ground beneath our feet. Yet even when everything stands clear and undeniable, we hesitate. We linger at the edge instead of stepping forward. The possibilities sit right in front of us, open and waiting, but we don’t always reach out.

I can’t help but wonder why. Why do we pause when the path is visible? Why do we question what is already laid bare before us? It puzzles me how often certainty arrives, and still, we remain unsure of whether to embrace it.

[aurethiaaflame]

It’s so brutal to leave a heart yearning </3

[aurethiaaflame]

I dismantled my shelter and learned the weather by standing in you.

[aurethiaaflame]

No one tells you that- losing yourself is quiet.

It happens under expectations, under applause, under the steady weight of being watched. You become careful and start living like you’re being graded. Judgement sits like a second spine on your chest. Stress hardens into habit, and one day you realise you don’t remember the sound of your laugh anymore. Not because joy left loudly, but because it slipped away while you were trying to survive. You’re baffled by how empty you’ve become. The lively soul no longer seeks for the sun.

Nothing shattered. You simply thinned out, until there was barely enough of you left to notice.

[aurethiaaflame]

No one tells you that- losing yourself is quiet.

It happens under expectations, under applause, under the steady weight of being watched. You become careful and start living like you’re being graded. Judgement sits like a second spine on your chest. Stress hardens into habit, and one day you realise you don’t remember the sound of your laugh anymore. Not because joy left loudly, but because it slipped away while you were trying to survive. You’re baffled by how empty you’ve become. The lively soul no longer seeks for the sun.

Nothing shattered. You simply thinned out, until there was barely enough of you left to notice.

[aurethiaaflame]

It’s terrifying how easily I vanish in rooms where I’m supposed to exist.

[aurethiaaflame]

But I can’t make you understand and you can’t make me. So maybe we can sit in silence and let it pass.

Language, after all is just an attempt, and Just like all other attempts- it sometimes fails.

[aurethiaaflame]

If I see you again, I’ll hug you this time. I’ll hug you and feel your warmth. The warmth that once belonged to me.

[aurethiaaflame]

Almost loved, still held.

Here’s to friendships we are grateful for but don’t talk about enough…

There are days when you sit in a room full of people and you feel yourself dissolving. Not disappearing in a poetic way, just thinning out. Like you’ve become the ghost of your own body, walking through conversations that never quite touch you. Their laughter spills across the floor but never reaches where you are. You start to wonder if anyone notices the empty chair you’ve become. In those moments, in those times, your mind turns weird. It whispers that you were built wrong. That you were designed to be almost loved, almost seen, almost held with love and tenderness. Its lowkey embarrassing to want so much of softness but only getting the outline of it anyway. And yet, even the most distorted hearts deserve care, love and tenderness. Even they deserve to be held like holding glass- so delicate- you hold it with care. Not in a dramatic way everyone claps for. Not the performative declarations. But the small, human warmth that feels like someone placing their palm against the frost on your skin and waiting, not demanding you to MELT!…just waiting. Calm. Patient.

Still, the world doesn’t always hand you over the kind of love from the people you believed would give it. That ache settles into your ribs like an unwelcome tenant. Then absurdly, almost mockingly- life sends you someone unexpected. Someone who sees the fracture lines under your smile without you tracing em’ first. Someone who catches the quiet tremble in your voice on ordinary tuesdays. Their presence doesn’t fix anything, but it rearranges the room inside you.

The friend who calls you stupid, dramatic, rolls their eyes, pretend they’re made of steel- but notices when you are missing your ex with a pouty face. Makes you watch mukbangs and searches “Mukbangs with Diet Coke” only because you like Diet Coke, and makes you get out of your spiral. Sits besides you when your inner world is collapsing but refuses to call it a collapse. The friend who downloads tumblr just to motivate you and be the first to like your post.

Maybe love isn’t the fever you thought it would be. Maybe its the small, persistent presence that refuses to leave.

People who remind you that maybe everything wasn’t as wrong as you thought, maybe some things, quietly, secretly, were a little right all along.

Thanks @speechlessparrot you were that person to me :)

[aurethiaaflame]

Almost loved, still held.

Here’s to friendships we are grateful for but don’t talk about enough…

There are days when you sit in a room full of people and you feel yourself dissolving. Not disappearing in a poetic way, just thinning out. Like you’ve become the ghost of your own body, walking through conversations that never quite touch you. Their laughter spills across the floor but never reaches where you are. You start to wonder if anyone notices the empty chair you’ve become. In those moments, in those times, your mind turns weird. It whispers that you were built wrong. That you were designed to be almost loved, almost seen, almost held with love and tenderness. Its lowkey embarrassing to want so much of softness but only getting the outline of it anyway. And yet, even the most distorted hearts deserve care, love and tenderness. Even they deserve to be held like holding glass- so delicate- you hold it with care. Not in a dramatic way everyone claps for. Not the performative declarations. But the small, human warmth that feels like someone placing their palm against the frost on your skin and waiting, not demanding you to MELT!…just waiting. Calm. Patient.

Still, the world doesn’t always hand you over the kind of love from the people you believed would give it. That ache settles into your ribs like an unwelcome tenant. Then absurdly, almost mockingly- life sends you someone unexpected. Someone who sees the fracture lines under your smile without you tracing em’ first. Someone who catches the quiet tremble in your voice on ordinary tuesdays. Their presence doesn’t fix anything, but it rearranges the room inside you.

The friend who calls you stupid, dramatic, rolls their eyes, pretend they’re made of steel- but notices when you are missing your ex with a pouty face. Makes you watch mukbangs and searches “Mukbangs with Diet Coke” only because you like Diet Coke, and makes you get out of your spiral. Sits besides you when your inner world is collapsing but refuses to call it a collapse. The friend who downloads tumblr just to motivate you and be the first to like your post.

Maybe love isn’t the fever you thought it would be. Maybe its the small, persistent presence that refuses to leave.

People who remind you that maybe everything wasn’t as wrong as you thought, maybe some things, quietly, secretly, were a little right all along.

Thanks @speechlessparrot you were that person to me :)

[aurethiaaflame]

It’s terrifying how easily I vanish in rooms where I’m supposed to exist.

[aurethiaaflame]

Some nights I swear I’m disappearing while everyone else keeps breathing.

If you found your way here, maybe it’s because you’re tired in a way sleep can’t fix. Maybe you feel small or unseen, or like the world keep asking too much from the parts of you that are already bruised and aching. If that’s the case- I want you to sit here for a moment and tell you something you might not believe yet: your worth has never been up for debate. Everyone has their own stories you might have yours for reading this. So lets get this straight- you feel unworthy, you feel useless, you feel fucked, you feel all sorts of things. Something like, you’re drowning while everyone is able to swim. I’ve felt it. That feeling of being the mismatched puzzle piece. Being different. Being different is a strange kind of loneliness. You stand in a crowd but it feels like the crowd is made of one fabric and you are another thread. Their voices weave together into music, while yours unravels into silence. Sometimes different feels like a gift wrapped in paper no one else understands. Other times, it feels like the curse you can’t return. But here is what no one tells you: threads that do not match often become the stitches that hold the fabric together. Silences between the notes are what makes the music beautiful. Being different does not mean you are broken, it means you are the pause, the space, the rare colour that doesn’t yet understand. Sometimes feeling unworthy is like being a book with missing pages- people think they know your story, but they have never read the chapters still waiting to be written. Or it’s like being a star on a cloudy night- hidden but still burning with the same fire as the ones that shine. You are not less for being unseen. You are not useless for taking longer to grow. Maybe right now you only see the cracks. But cracks are where the light enters. Cracks are proof that you have survived the weight pressing against you and when you stop hiding those cracks. You’ll see that people don’t admire the flawless glass- they admire the stained glass, glowing because of its broken pieces. And when that day comes, you’ll smile quietly to yourself, because you’ll finally realise, you were never less, only rare.

[aurethiaaflame]

Some nights I swear I’m disappearing while everyone else keeps breathing.

If you found your way here, maybe it’s because you’re tired in a way sleep can’t fix. Maybe you feel small or unseen, or like the world keep asking too much from the parts of you that are already bruised and aching. If that’s the case- I want you to sit here for a moment and tell you something you might not believe yet: your worth has never been up for debate. Everyone has their own stories you might have yours for reading this. So lets get this straight- you feel unworthy, you feel useless, you feel fucked, you feel all sorts of things. Something like, you’re drowning while everyone is able to swim. I’ve felt it. That feeling of being the mismatched puzzle piece. Being different. Being different is a strange kind of loneliness. You stand in a crowd but it feels like the crowd is made of one fabric and you are another thread. Their voices weave together into music, while yours unravels into silence. Sometimes different feels like a gift wrapped in paper no one else understands. Other times, it feels like the curse you can’t return. But here is what no one tells you: threads that do not match often become the stitches that hold the fabric together. Silences between the notes are what makes the music beautiful. Being different does not mean you are broken, it means you are the pause, the space, the rare colour that doesn’t yet understand. Sometimes feeling unworthy is like being a book with missing pages- people think they know your story, but they have never read the chapters still waiting to be written. Or it’s like being a star on a cloudy night- hidden but still burning with the same fire as the ones that shine. You are not less for being unseen. You are not useless for taking longer to grow. Maybe right now you only see the cracks. But cracks are where the light enters. Cracks are proof that you have survived the weight pressing against you and when you stop hiding those cracks. You’ll see that people don’t admire the flawless glass- they admire the stained glass, glowing because of its broken pieces. And when that day comes, you’ll smile quietly to yourself, because you’ll finally realise, you were never less, only rare.

[aurethiaaflame]

Some nights I swear I’m disappearing while everyone else keeps breathing.

If you found your way here, maybe it’s because you’re tired in a way sleep can’t fix. Maybe you feel small or unseen, or like the world keep asking too much from the parts of you that are already bruised and aching. If that’s the case- I want you to sit here for a moment and tell you something you might not believe yet: your worth has never been up for debate. Everyone has their own stories you might have yours for reading this. So lets get this straight- you feel unworthy, you feel useless, you feel fucked, you feel all sorts of things. Something like, you’re drowning while everyone is able to swim. I’ve felt it. That feeling of being the mismatched puzzle piece. Being different. Being different is a strange kind of loneliness. You stand in a crowd but it feels like the crowd is made of one fabric and you are another thread. Their voices weave together into music, while yours unravels into silence. Sometimes different feels like a gift wrapped in paper no one else understands. Other times, it feels like the curse you can’t return. But here is what no one tells you: threads that do not match often become the stitches that hold the fabric together. Silences between the notes are what makes the music beautiful. Being different does not mean you are broken, it means you are the pause, the space, the rare colour that doesn’t yet understand. Sometimes feeling unworthy is like being a book with missing pages- people think they know your story, but they have never read the chapters still waiting to be written. Or it’s like being a star on a cloudy night- hidden but still burning with the same fire as the ones that shine. You are not less for being unseen. You are not useless for taking longer to grow. Maybe right now you only see the cracks. But cracks are where the light enters. Cracks are proof that you have survived the weight pressing against you and when you stop hiding those cracks. You’ll see that people don’t admire the flawless glass- they admire the stained glass, glowing because of its broken pieces. And when that day comes, you’ll smile quietly to yourself, because you’ll finally realise, you were never less, only rare.