mama making our place très beau with her hydrangeas she bought from the flower market ~

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mama making our place très beau with her hydrangeas she bought from the flower market ~
we walked for hours I mean hours up and down. it was stupidly beautiful. the kind of beautiful that doesn’t even try. just there. doing its thing while you’re busy trying not to faint from the incline. i don’t think I’ve ever walked at that kind of angle before, it felt like the world had tilted just to mess with my balance and my lungs… i want to feel it again.
03/07/25
I was in the park today, watching a pigeon circling the pavement like it was searching for something. We watched it together how it bobbed awkwardly, half-proud, half-lost and someone said it was strange how we once bred them to carry our messages, trusted them with our words and distances. Now we call them vermin. A nuisance. As if they had chosen to fall from grace.
The comment lingered in my mind. It wasn’t really about the pigeon, of course. It was about the way things change, the way people forget what you were once trusted with. How usefulness fades in the eyes of those who once reached for you instinctively. How quickly one is reclassified. It sucks.
12/03/25
Things are fine. Not amazing, not terrible—just steady. This is where I’m at my best. I chase stability like it’s some great, elusive prize, convinced that if I can just hold everything in place, I’ll be content forever. Which is ridiculous, really. Are we ever truly stable? Emotionally, financially, physically. It’s all in my control and completely out of it at the same time, like holding water in my hands.
There’s a quiet kind of optimism at the moment. The sun has been out, and I’ve been seeing my family more—I didn’t realise just how much I missed them until I was sitting across from them again, laughing at the same old stories. Work is fine. I’m hoping it stays that way. Or maybe I’m hoping for something more.
But then, isn’t that it? The constant reaching, the next thing, the just-around-the-corner feeling— will that ever end for me? And if it did, would I even know how to sit with it? Is hoping and wishing just another way of avoiding being content, or is it the thing that keeps me moving forwards?
18/08/24
My sister and I are so different that if we weren’t related, I doubt we’d be friends. And yet, somehow, we’re also so similar. (She’d roll her eyes at that.)
We don’t often see eye to eye—when we do, it feels like a rare moment of alignment where, just for a second, we completely understand each other.
But whether we agree or not has never really mattered to either of us. We’re always on each other’s side. And as we get older, our differences don’t pull us apart—they just sit alongside our similarities, making our relationship more layered, more interesting, and, if anything, even stronger.
Memories that cut rather than comfort
14/02/25
@avixbh a person who arrived and stayed
Budapest may 2024