Bloom

22 | Instagram - @_krittikakumar

[silentprose]

Lately, it’s like every time something bad happens, I’m stuck trying to make sense of it all on my own. No signs, no answers—just me, sitting with the weight of it, hoping something, anything, will start to make it hurt a little less.

[silentprose]

I loved quietly, from a distance, but yesterday his laughter with another cracked open a hollow I didn’t know was there—a hollow where even I couldn’t find refuge.

[silentprose]

And if the ache feels heavy tonight, I’m here to sit with you in it.

[silentprose]

We fear the empty page more than what we might write upon it.

[silentprose]

He was laughing with his friends, and she stood beside him, quietly smiling — like he was the only thing there. Her sister nudged her. She turned, whispered with her lips, “I love him,” then looked back at him... like she couldn’t bear to miss the way he smiled.

[silentprose]

My mother and I are more alike than I’d care to admit, and whenever I feel like I am carrying the weight alone, I know I am my mother’s daughter.

[silentprose]

The privilege of being able to not give up on yourself.

[silentprose]

My father and I are more alike than I’d care to admit, and whenever I feel like I turned peace to war, I know I am my father’s daughter.

[silentprose]

I recently read somewhere ‘there is a lot of intimacy in never speaking again’ Since when did distance start masquerading as depth? If I saw them again, the silence would scream. Eyes would flicker, not with warmth, but with the weight of everything buried. We wouldn’t need words, no—but not because of intimacy. Because there’s too much to say, and too little courage left to say it.

[silentprose]

Am I too delusional to think this? Standing outside our house while it’s raining and the weather has this strange beauty to it, I wonder if someone in one of these quiet houses fall in love with me as I fall in love with the rain.

[silentprose]

God, how I ache to whisper “he is healing something in me he didn’t break.”

[silentprose]

It still comes as a shock to me how we flinch at memories that once made us feel safe.

[silentprose]

“I write as if to save somebody’s life. Probably my own”

- Clarice Lispector

[silentprose]

if only the mind whispered—

not this time.

not the same spiral,

not the harsh self-talk,

not the old wound dressed as comfort.

you made it out.

don’t go back to the place

you crawled out of with so much pain.

stay with me—it’s okay.

keep becoming your best self,

not for them,

not for the world,

but for you.

so one day,

you won’t need their validation—

you’ll already be at peace.

[silentprose]

And suddenly the words slipped out of my mouth “I can’t do this anymore, I’m tired” which was weird, because it came from someone who used to handle everything without breaking a sweat.

[silentprose]

The night holds space for the parts of me I don’t explain.

[silentprose]

I often think about the ones whose eyes meet and, in that moment, they share something unspoken,

who exchange a smile in passing, a secret only they understand,

when he teases and she, with quiet grace, returns a look that holds more than words ever could,

craving each other’s presence, even when it’s impossible.

Do they lie awake, wondering when their paths will cross again,

or do they only belong to moments that slip away too soon?