Babygirl

Crybaby

[cherrylov3r]

My phone case says “I’m literally just a girl” and I felt like it truly spoke to me

[cherrylov3r]

Letting Go

I don’t hate you anymore.

The rage

has long since left me.

But if I saw you,

I would still

cross the street.

I no longer cry myself

to sleep,

wondering

why you hurt me.

But I wouldn’t

walk into a room

if I knew

you were waiting there.

Your name

no longer makes

my heart sink.

But I have no desire

to know

what comes after it.

Who you became.

Where you went.

Whether you’re happy.

Or not.

Some people think

letting go

means wanting

someone back

without the pain.

They are wrong.

Letting go

is not longing.

It is not forgetting.

It is not pretending

it never happened.

It is simply

no longer carrying

what was never mine

to carry.

I have let you go.

And with you,

the hurt

you left behind.

[cherrylov3r]

Birthday behavior 🧁

[cherrylov3r]

Hinar

Hinar.

The Kurdish word

for pomegranate.

Funny, isn’t it,

how a fruit

became the symbol

of love for me.

Not because of its sweetness.

Because of what it asks of you.

You split it open.

Carefully remove

seed after seed.

Patiently.

My fingertips

stained crimson.

My sleeves

stained too.

Thirty minutes spent

freeing each jewel

from its shell.

Only to hand someone

a bowl

they finish

in less than ten.

And somehow,

that has always felt

like love.

Not the eating.

The preparing.

The quiet devotion

of doing something

that no one else

will ever notice.

The care hidden

inside ordinary acts.

The willingness

to stain your own hands

just to make

someone else’s life

a little easier.

Perhaps that is why

I love pomegranates.

Because they remind me

that love

is rarely grand.

More often,

it is thirty quiet minutes

in a kitchen,

with red-stained hands,

hoping someone notices

how much care

went into every seed.

[cherrylov3r]

Human

“It is not your job

to find the wounded child

in every monster.”

I read those words

and something inside me

became quiet.

Because that is

what I had been doing.

Searching for the frightened child

inside every person

who frightened me.

Excusing every wound

they left on me.

“They didn’t mean to.”

“They just weren’t loved properly.”

“It’s not really their fault.”

As though understanding

their pain

could somehow

make mine disappear.

And somewhere

along the way,

I realized something.

Maybe I searched

for the wounded child

inside them

because I hoped

someone would search

for her

inside me.

Every time I made a mistake,

every time I hurt someone,

I rushed to explain.

“But that’s not me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please believe me.”

Not because I wanted

to escape responsibility.

Because I was terrified

that one mistake

would make me

unlovable.

That one failure

would turn me

into the monster

I had spent my life

trying not to become.

But I know now,

I never was.

Neither the saint

I expected myself to be.

Nor the monster

I feared I had become.

I was simply

human.

[cherrylov3r]

I Still Think of Him

I don’t call him anymore.

His voice no longer

fills my evenings.

His name no longer

lights up my phone.

The habit of reaching for him

has long since faded.

But I still think of him.

When I read about

the latest astronomical discovery.

When I learn something strange

and wonderful.

When the kind of question appears

that begs to be shared.

My mind still turns toward him

for a second.

Out of habit.

Out of memory.

I don’t remember

the way he smelled anymore.

Time has stolen

the smaller details.

The exact sound of his laugh.

The warmth of his skin.

The things I once thought

I would never forget.

But each time

I bake cinnamon rolls,

his face appears

for a fleeting moment.

Like a photograph

tucked between the pages

of a favorite book.

Not painful.

Just there.

And perhaps

that is what moving on

actually looks like.

Not forgetting.

Not erasing.

Not pretending

someone never mattered.

Just carrying the memory

without carrying the hurt.

[cherrylov3r]

Hi can I politely ask your sexuality? You’re so cute and I dont want to bark up the wrong tree 🩷

Hi! I’m heterosexual, very unfortunately attracted to men 😂💘

[cherrylov3r]

Did You Know?

Did you know?

That you hurt me?

That once we hung up the phone,

I quietly laid my head

against my pillow

and cried.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just the kind of crying

that happens when no one is watching.

The kind that slips out

despite your best efforts

to keep it contained.

Did you know

that I had only just begun

letting you in?

That after everything,

after all the hurt

that came before you,

I was finally starting

to lower my guard.

Trusting you

with pieces of me

I do not hand out easily.

And then,

you said you were done.

Did you know

I stayed awake that night?

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering why

you couldn’t feel the same.

Wondering what was missing.

What I had missed.

What I could have done differently.

Did you know

that for a moment,

I wanted there to be

a reason?

A flaw.

A mistake.

Something I could point to

and say,

“There. That’s why.”

Because uncertainty

is harder to carry

than rejection.

Did you know?

That I replayed

our conversations.

Your words.

Your laughter.

Searching for answers

that were never there.

Did you know?

Or perhaps the better question is

could you have known?

Could you have understood

the weight of what you were carrying

when you held my heart

in your hands?

I don’t know.

And maybe I never will.

But what I know now

is that hurting me

does not make you cruel.

And being hurt by you

does not make me foolish.

[cherrylov3r]

Mr. Coffee Beans

My phone rang.

It was you.

Mr. Coffee Beans.

For a second,

I stared at the screen.

Surprised that your name

could still find its way back to me.

I remembered how badly it hurt

when you left.

How every wound

I had carefully glued shut

seemed to split open again.

How grief has a way

of convincing you

it will last forever.

So I answered,

expecting it all

to come flooding back.

The ache.

The longing.

The version of me

that once couldn’t imagine

a world without you in it.

But it didn’t.

Instead,

it felt like talking

to an old friend.

Familiar.

Comfortable.

Distant.

Like finding an old sweater

at the back of the closet.

One you used to wear constantly.

One that once felt

like a second skin.

You put it on again,

remembering how much

you loved it.

But something is different.

Not wrong.

Just different.

Because you are not

the same person

who wore it back then.

And maybe that is the strangest part.

Not that you changed.

That I did.

For so long,

I thought the magic

lived inside these men.

Inside their eyes.

Their words.

Their leaving.

But I see it now.

The magic was never them.

It was me.

I was the one

turning ordinary boys

into constellations.

Into stories.

Into something larger

than they ever claimed to be.

And perhaps the most beautiful thing

about healing

is finally being able

to see them that way.

[cherrylov3r]

How Could You?

I called him crying.

The baby birds

in the tree outside my work

had died.

The same ones

I had watched every morning.

The same ones

I checked on during my shifts.

Tiny lives

I had quietly grown attached to.

So I called him.

Heartbroken.

And he said,

“How sad.”

Matter-of-factly.

As if sadness

was a conclusion.

A fact to acknowledge.

Not an emotion

to be carried.

Not a grief

to be felt.

I should have known then.

Weeks later,

he looked at me and said,

“I don’t feel the same for you

as you do for me.”

And unexpectedly,

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because it made perfect sense.

How could you?

You explain emotions.

I feel them.

You observe the rain.

I dance in it.

You understand sadness.

I grieve birds.

You experience feelings

from the shore.

I throw myself into the ocean.

And perhaps that was never

a failure on either side.

Just a difference

neither of us could bridge.

Because some people

live their lives

understanding emotions.

And some people

become them.

[cherrylov3r]

It’s Their Loss

“It’s their loss,”

my friend said.

And for a moment,

I tried to imagine it.

Imagine never hearing my laughter again.

The kind that arrives

at the worst possible moment.

The kind that sneaks into serious conversations

and somehow makes them lighter.

Imagine never feeling

my nails gently tracing patterns

across your arm.

Never falling asleep beside me

while I stroke your hair.

Never hearing me talk for hours

about things that don’t matter

and somehow matter entirely.

Natural disasters.

Dragonflies.

The moon.

How Venus is visible

in the evening sky.

Imagine never receiving another photograph

of a sunset I couldn’t keep to myself.

Never hearing me get excited

about a book.

Never watching me stop in the rain

to save a snail.

Never seeing the way

I turn ordinary days

into something worth remembering.

Imagine losing me.

Not my face.

Not my smile.

Me.

The questions.

The wonder.

The softness.

The hope.

The stubborn refusal

to stop finding beauty in the world.

And suddenly,

for the first time,

I understood what my friend meant.

Because losing me

isn’t losing a person.

It’s losing all the little magic

that comes with me.

[cherrylov3r]

Little Bird

The last person

who called me little bird

wanted the bird in a cage.

A beautiful cage.

Golden.

Adorned.

Comfortable enough

that I might mistake it

for love.

So when you gave me

the same nickname,

I was afraid.

Afraid that affection

would once again

come with conditions.

That love would ask me

to clip my own wings.

But you never asked me

to stay.

Never asked me

to become smaller.

You never reached

for a cage.

Instead,

you had roots.

A tree,

steady and unwavering.

The kind that remains standing

through every season.

And without asking,

you became the very thing

I wanted to fly toward.

Not ownership.

Not possession.

Not an illusion

disguised as safety.

Real safety.

The kind that does not demand

a sacrifice.

The kind that says,

You are free to leave,

and still welcome to stay

[cherrylov3r]

Quiet

I’m an overthinker.

My mind races

a million thoughts at a time.

Did I say something wrong?

Are they mad at me?

Did I ask for too much?

Am I about to be left behind again?

And it’s always worst

when I have feelings for someone.

Because God forbid

I let someone close enough

to hurt me.

God forbid

I open the door again

only to watch them leave.

So the thoughts come.

One after another.

Relentless.

Until I’m there.

His messy apartment.

His fuzzy brown blanket

pulled over my legs.

The sound of his voice

somewhere in the room.

And those blue eyes

finding mine.

And suddenly,

nothing.

No spiraling.

No preparing for disaster.

No searching for hidden meanings

inside every word.

Just quiet.

The kind of quiet

I spend most of my life chasing.

He looks at me.

And for the first time all day,

I stop trying to predict the future.

I stop searching for reasons

to run.

I stop wondering

whether I am too much.

And somehow,

with nothing more than a look,

I feel a little braver.

A little softer.

[cherrylov3r]

Brave Enough

It was never even him.

Or at least,

not entirely.

It was the fact

that I could feel something again.

And not the familiar things.

Not anxiety.

Not longing.

Not the ache

of trying to earn love.

Something else entirely.

Ease.

Calmness.

The kind of feeling

I had spent so long searching for

that I almost didn’t recognize it

when it arrived.

He was patient.

My too-muchness

never seemed to frighten him.

My questions.

My feelings.

My endless curiosity.

None of it sent him running.

And that terrified me.

Because every shadow inside me

wanted to test it.

Push a little harder.

Reveal a little more.

See where the breaking point was.

See if he would leave

like the others.

But it was never even him.

It was me.

The realization

that my heart was waking up again.

That after everything,

I was still capable

of wanting.

Still capable

of hoping.

Still capable

of letting someone see me.

And that felt far more dangerous

than loving him.

Because vulnerability

is not falling in love.

It is standing in front of an open door

and choosing not to run.

Day by day,

I became a little braver.

A little softer.

A little more willing

to believe that not everyone

comes to destroy what they touch.

And sometimes,

late at night,

I find myself wondering

Am I really brave enough

to let someone back in?

And perhaps the answer is this:

I already have.

Even if only a little.

Even if I’m still scared

[cherrylov3r]

The Edge

There are moments in life

where you find yourself

standing at the edge.

And you have a choice.

Cross it,

and everything changes.

Stay where you are,

and nothing happens at all.

Looking at him,

I knew this was one of those moments.

His full lips tempting

every stubborn part of me.

His cerulean eyes

seeing far more of me

than I was prepared to show.

And suddenly,

the distance between us

felt impossible to maintain.

I had no control.

Every atom in me

reaching toward him

as though it had already decided

long before I had.

And when his lips met mine,

the world did not stop.

No fireworks.

No grand revelation.

Just certainty.

The quiet understanding

that some people arrive

to alter the landscape of your life.

And standing there,

with his mouth against mine,

I knew one thing.

No matter how this story ends,

there will always be a version of me

that existed before him.

And a version of me

that existed after.

And they are not the same woman.

[cherrylov3r]

My Niece

She saw every shadow.

Every dark corner

of my soul.

Every scar.

Every bad day.

Every tantrum.

And none of it mattered.

She would burst into my room,

throw open the door,

turn on the lights,

pull apart the curtains.

And then look at me,

as if I were made of sunshine.

As if I hung the moon.

As if I painted the rainbows.

As if my love alone

was enough to warm the world.

She looked at me

with the kind of certainty

adults spend their whole lives

searching for.

And looking at her,

this little girl

so much like me,

I understood something.

Loving her

is the easiest thing

I have ever done.

I do not love her

because she is perfect.

I love her because she is her.

And suddenly I wondered

if loving her is this easy,

why was I ever convinced

that I had to earn it?

[cherrylov3r]

Anger

I am angry.

I never got an apology.

Never saw guilt

sitting in their eyes,

never saw remorse

for the suffering

they left behind.

Instead,

I was the one

made to carry the shame.

Made to feel guilty

for hurting,

for reacting,

for simply being human.

As if my pain

was the inconvenience.

So yes

I am angry.

And maybe I should be.

Because anger is what remains

when you finally realize

you deserved better

all along.