#lumi.diary

[luminomoon]

Mar 2nd, 2026 (believe it or not, that’s not a skirt. that’s pants)

[luminomoon]

i love my pocket journal he’s my best friend

*^*

[luminomoon]

mum’s old leather journal cover with snoopy, her name and a note that says “i love you Luca” which is my father’s name.

odd to find these old relics that stand as tangible proofs that they did in fact love each other dearly, when i never saw or felt it one day in my whole life. mum told me to burn the thing immediately; i didn’t.

weird how objects preserve memory and truth even when we try to deny it. i feel that stuff like this is rightfully mine to keep. it’s part of a story that’s mine. i am an historian relying on practical evidences to reconstruct a time when i wasn’t present, snooping around old records trying to reconcile the gaps in between years where things don’t seem to make sense. and still they happened. it’s an irrefutable truth that my parents did once love each other, dreamt of a life with each other, touched each other, kissed each other, laughed with each other. an idea so absurd to me it is laughable indeed. yet snoopy keeps the record.

and it feels important to know i came from this beaten up journal cover too, once in the hand of a young version of my mother, long dark locks and her nose still big and crooked, a young beautiful girl who was so smitten with that hot headed neighbor boy she engraved his name on this journal. and at some point he became my father. snoopy keeps the record.

what did she write in that journal? i wish she kept it. and where did that love go? where did it move? there’s no track of it in the past 26 years of my life yet it was there, snoopy keeps the record. how could so much change? how could these two people become so other when they were so intricately connected? that scares me. the impermanence of relationships. of feelings. the fact that love is never really a certainty. that roots can be severed, brutally ripped, no matter how deep they run. and where do the stumps go? do they stay inside you? do they erode themselves away? do we consume them till no memory is left of what once was so important? or maybe we let snoopy keep them, we meticulously pluck them out so we can move on, but we don’t destroy them. we keep them as proofs, evidence. monuments of our history for those who come after us.

[luminomoon]

just had a lesson in a cinema (so uncomfortable to take notes) and today it’s so warm it feels like spring is just around the corner. how are u doing

Brano · 2019 · Durata: 4:56

[luminomoon]

i like deeply feeling people

maybe cause i can sometimes drown in my own emotions...but i’m getting better at breaking the mirrors

[luminomoon]

i love when you meet an online friend in person and you find exactly the same kind soul and bright personality they showed behind the screen. so heartwarming. you were not a ghost after all

[luminomoon]

my five years plan:

love wholeheartedly, unapologetically, who and what loves me back.

fully become the grown up version of the person i was when i was 14; trace my steps back to her cause she was the real raw and glorious me, but this time embrace myself ferociously.

recognise the strength and wisdom in myself and trust it.

fight for what and who i love without hesitation. (but don't compromise if the same effort and care is not put out for me).

never let anything or anyone tame my indomitable soul and curious mind: especially never let anyone persuade me that it's futile to have hope or nurturing love, compassion and fairness.

eat lots of fresh fruit and vegetables and cook delicious meals for me and my loved ones. bask in the unadulterated joy and fun of real connection and a caring, accepting community.

[luminomoon]

the thing with online relationships and friendships is that the absence is everywhere. you can’t feel it when your notifications explode with greetings and validation and affection but it dawns on you when eventually everything goes quiet. life happens, it continues, luckily, outside the black screen. and you feel deep in your bones a type of clarifying solitude that makes you realize you were never not alone: it makes you see the ghost hands you’ve been trying to hold. the shape of absence who cannot hold nor know you nor save you. days have gone by in your frivolous distraction and your hands? still heavy with that aching emptiness, ghost fingers intertwined with your own, growing colder by the hour, stiff in their everlasting attempt to grab something that’s just not there.