a letter to me

writing down the wind. wandering with open hands and an old soul.

[thistlebern]

Life After Resignation: A Story of Dreams, Disillusionment, and Starting Over

Isn’t it ironic?

The job you once prayed for, the one you thought would bring you comfort, financial stability, and personal growth—becomes the very thing that slowly drains the life out of you.

You started with so much hope. You had goals, dreams, and a heart full of excitement. Everything felt new. You were meeting people, learning, growing, and finally living the life you once imagined for yourself. For a while, it all seemed to make sense.

But then reality hits.

The life of a working adult isn’t quite what they made it out to be. It becomes a cycle, a fast-paced routine where days blur into weeks, and suddenly another month has passed. You’re not living; you’re surviving. You experience stress, disappointment, and moments where you question everything, yet you push through because you have responsibilities. You have bills to pay, people to support, a life to maintain.

Still, a quiet voice inside whispers, “This isn’t what I imagined.”

The girl who once had so many dreams now just hopes to get through the day. She stops looking forward to things. Stops planning. Stops dreaming. It’s not burnout from a busy week—it’s exhaustion from constantly pushing herself in an environment that no longer nurtures her growth.

And one day, she breaks…

No dramatic goodbye. No explanations. She simply walks away—leaving the job, the noise, and the expectations behind.

She disappears, not because she’s weak, but because she’s finally choosing herself.

[thistlebern]

Here we go again, a cycle unbroken,

Lost in a maze of words unspoken.

Still unsure, a heart left bare,

Drifting through echoes of vacant air.

Is this feeling honest, or merely a shade,

A selfish thought that love betrayed?

I see him with another, yet don’t truly know—

Is it my heart, or just my woe?

Maybe the fault is not in him,

But in the way my light grows dim.

Perhaps the change I seek so deep

Lies in the soul I fail to keep.

[thistlebern]

Everything feels so messed up,

Like a puzzle with missing pieces.

I want to believe him,

To trust the warmth in his voice,

But something lingers in the silence—

A truth he won’t speak, a secret untold.

Do I love him for who he truly is,

Or am I just lost in the beauty of his lies?

Blinded by sweet words and fleeting touches,

Holding on to a love that may not be real.

Am I fighting for him,

Or just fighting the fear of being alone?

Is it love, or is it longing?

Is it trust, or just a desperate hope

That he is everything I wish he could be?

[thistlebern]

I’ve lost my appetite,

A fever burns beneath my skin.

Tears linger at the edge of my sight,

And silence feels safer than sound.

For if I let the music play,

I fear it might shatter me whole.

I miss him—

The way we spoke for hours,

The way my thoughts found a home in his words.

I miss everything,

Every fleeting moment we shared,

Now only echoes in the past.

But I must move forward—

For myself,

For my peace,

For this weary heart and restless soul.

I must.

[thistlebern]

I never saw it coming, did I?

Or did I turn a blind eye to the signs,

Lost in the warmth of what I wished to be?

Why does the world crumble when it feels so whole?

Why must love demand surrender,

Lest I be the one to drown in sorrow?

But why? Why does his name still echo in my mind?

Why does his shadow linger in the quiet?

Will this ache ever fade? Will it cease to haunt me?

For now, doubt tugs at my resolve,

A whisper urging me to turn back.

But is undoing the past the path to peace,

Or just another way to deepen the wound?

Perhaps this is the weight of love—

Not to hold, not to keep,

But to learn how to let go.

[thistlebern]

In a world of endless confusion,

I stand alone, knowing only me,

The essence of who I am,

Yet in my heart, a question stirs—

Why do I feel this way?

Uncertainty clouds my path,

And I cannot decide,

To move forward or to turn aside,

What holds me back, what whispers low,

I do not know.

Something restrains me,

An invisible force,

A hesitation I cannot name,

Do I confront it, take the chance?

Or shield my heart from what may come?

A risk or refuge, which shall I choose?

The silence weighs, and still, I stand,

Caught between a fear and fate,

Wondering which path will set me free.

[thistlebern]

A Fleeting Thought

I don’t know if this is something unusual,

or just a passing thought I shouldn’t hold on to.

But it lingers, quiet yet heavy,

like a question I’m too afraid to answer.

Am I falling?

Or do I just like the comfort of knowing

someone is right behind me?

I don’t know if I’m ready,

but a part of me wants to try.

Is he different?

Or just another lesson waiting to be learned?

I wish I knew.

I wish my heart would tell me

before it’s too late.

[thistlebern]

I always retreat before things spiral out of control.

It’s as if avoidance has become my armor,

Shielding me from conflict, yet trapping me in silence.

But how do I summon the courage to tell someone

That their attitude feels wrong,

That their words or actions carry a weight they may not see?

I take the blame—again and again.

I’m always the one left suspended,

Lingering in the air like an unspoken apology.

But why is self-awareness so elusive for some?

Why can’t they see the ripple of their behavior

Tearing through the fragile fabric of connection?

I despise the moments when this cycle repeats itself

When misunderstanding reigns, and I’m left to bear it alone.

It’s a quiet agony, carrying the burden of unsaid truths.

How I wish people would stop,

Look inward, and confront the shadows they cast.

It’s in that reflection where real change begins,

But until then, I remain caught in this endless storm.

[thistlebern]

being in silence is not entirely my nature,

yet, if I face rejection,

why should I force my spirit further?

it’s not effortless to linger in the shadows,

but there, I find a semblance of peace behind.

[thistlebern]

you only speak to me to find solace for your restless thoughts.

you initiate because you seek to unburden yourself.

you come around only to cast yourself as the victim.

you call me avoidant, yet you see me as nothing more than fragile.

how could you?

when i was the one who stood by your side when no one else did.

when the world turned its back on you, yet i chose to stay.

how could you paint me as cruel when all i’ve shown is compassion?

[thistlebern]

what’s the purpose of going home every day if you’re just like the wind passing by?

what’s the purpose of waking up early every morning if you’re still exhausted from the emptiness of the night before?

what’s the purpose of putting in all your effort to go home early, only to feel the same way you did in the morning before you left?

so, what’s the purpose of all this, if you only exist when you have something to offer?