Hey ,
She’s crying again .
It’s okay.
She must be tired .
You hug her ,
And I’ll wipe her tears.
Okay.
I’ll hug her ,
And you wipe her tears.
Whispered the blanket to the pillow.

Hey ,
She’s crying again .
It’s okay.
She must be tired .
You hug her ,
And I’ll wipe her tears.
Okay.
I’ll hug her ,
And you wipe her tears.
Whispered the blanket to the pillow.

45 hits differently .
You begin to see the world through a completely different lens, leaving you to wonder:
How was I so blind?
You look back and question the years spent being too timid, too forgiving, or too quiet.
But then, the shift happens.
There is a sudden, sharp indifference to the things that don’t matter—and a newfound courage to finally choose yourself.
Here is what I realise at 45 :
1. The power of silence. Not every thought requires an audience.
2. Protecting over chasing. I’ve stopped pursuing what isn’t for me and started guarding what is.
3. The body as a temple. Prioritizing the gym and fueling with intention.
4. Radical self-alignment. Putting my feelings and mental health at the top of the list.
5. The art of the exit. Walking away from anything—and anyone—that drains my light.
These are the realizations that inevitably surface when you hit 45.
I’m here to tell you: these 5 truths are absolutely real.
My advice?
Don’t wait until you’re 45 to understand them.
What about you?
Have you had a moment of clarity recently?

The truth is, I’ve fallen for you.
It wasn’t a choice I made; it just happened quietly,
growing in the spaces between our conversations.
In fact, I thought I would never feel this again.
I was broken inside,
convinced I was incapable of loving or being loved.
But the desire grew with each passing day—
a slow, steady hunger to love you,
and the impossible wish to be loved by you in return.
I will stop writing now,
for it feels pointless.
I cannot express my love to you
for fear of losing the “us” we already have.
So I will say it here,
Just to make my heart happy for a moment:
I love you very much , baby.
And now, I’ll let the ink dry.
I’ll fold this feeling small enough to hide,
and carry the weight of it, gladly, in your presence.

One, two, three,
The plates crashed hard against the wall.
She stood in the center, eyes closed tight.
Four, five, six,
Glass shattered in a ring around her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Seven, eight, nine,
The porcelain storm kept coming.
Ten.
The final shard finds its mark.
It bites into her skin, a sharp, red sting—
There is blood, but oddly, she doesn’t feel it.
The numbness is a shield.
Inside, she is a landslide of shaking nerves,
But she stands like a statue in the debris.
She cannot break, because she is the floor
On which the children stand.

In the deep hush of the night, while the house sleeps, her tears trickle quietly.
Even they seem to know that silence is her only sanctuary; it is safer that way.
Her heart thrashes, demanding answers and threatening to break into a sob, but she whispers comfort to the ache.
She tells her heart that everything will be okay, though she knows it is a lie.
It will never be okay—not unless she leaves.
But leaving is a door a mother can never truly walk through.
Left behind, her heart sinks into a quiet, heavy disappointment.
Eventually, sleep claims her.
Her pillow dries her tears as it always does, and her duvet wraps around her—the only things left to offer her the comfort and warmth she so desperately needs.


Today, I woke up feeling drained.
Emotionally drained.
I love you, but you are not mine to love.
I miss you, but you are not mine to miss.
I want to be with you, but you are not mine to be with.
Emotionally, I feel tired.
Today, I feel alone.
Today, I feel drained.
I don’t blame you for this.
And you don’t have to apologize, as it isn’t your fault.
It’s just a case of meeting the right person at the wrong time.
The right person, at the wrong time.
Sometimes I wonder: why did we cross paths?
Why make us cross paths when the timing was so wrong?
At times, I feel it would have been better if our paths had never crossed at all.
I would have never known you, and you would have never known me.
It would have been easier that way.
We would have been ignorantly happy with what we had.
Also, I wouldn’t have felt this tired or alone.
I don’t like this feeling—this sense of being emotionally and mentally drained.
It has taken a toll on me.
So, what do I do?
What do I do to avoid feeling so tired?
I think I will surrender and accept fate as it is.
I’ll accept the fact that we were only meant to cross paths and nothing more.
Some people have journeys together, but ours ended the day we met.
I will just surrender and go on with life, with no hopes or expectations.
Who knows?
Maybe in this life, we were only meant to meet.
And maybe in the next life, that is where our journey truly begins.
Until then, I will surrender.
Because the truth is, you were never mine to begin with.