Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

102

Writings

Followers

Following

Cassette A.

Writing feelings down makes me feel okay, sometimes. :))

102

Writings

Followers

Following

Unearned Peace

Cassette A.

1 min read

Too much peace, she breathes—

a life not built with her hands.

It feels like a sin....

Poetry

Paper Skies

Cassette A.

1 min read

Clouds cover the skies, rain pulls at your eyes,

but nothing stings like truth in disguise.

A whispered promise, warm in the dark—

now a splinter lodged beneath the heart.

You said forever with a breath so light,

but even shadows flee from the morning light....

Poetry

An Elegy in Your Name

Cassette A.

1 min read

It must come to an end, and that is loving you.

Not because I want to—

God, I wanted to stay.

I wanted the version of you

that only lived in the seconds

right before you broke me.

The laugh before the silence.

The hand before the shove.

The _I love you_

before the _why are you so hard to love?_

I planted flowers

in the graveyard of your promises,

thinking something beautiful

might grow from grie...

Poetry

Even Now, You

Cassette A.

2 min read

“You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune of loving.”

His voice cracked on the last word, as though it betrayed him. She blinked, rain slipping from her lashes, but didn’t look away. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his jacket useless against the downpour. And still he stood there like a man begging for a god that never answered.

“You don’t get to say that,” she sai...

Romance

They Called Themselves Human

Cassette A.

1 min read

**—translated from the last relic of Earth**

They came after the silence.

After the cities collapsed into dust

and the oceans forgot their names.

They sifted through shadows,

searching not for treasure,

but for truth.

They found it in a ruin—

a single page,

charred at the edges,

sealed in rusted metal

like a secret begging not to be found.

No diagrams.

No cures.

No final instructions.

Just thi...

Poetry

Name Me, If You Can

Cassette A.

1 min read

I am alive, yes—

flesh warm, breath steady—

but it feels like mourning

with no coffin to bury.

I walk through days

in a costume I didn’t choose,

each thread a lie

I never meant to use.

The mirror blinks—

blank, unrecognizing.

It isn’t death I fear,

but not knowing

who’s living.

**** ((Two poems because why not))****...

Poetry

A Funeral at Twenty-Five

Cassette A.

1 min read

God,

was there ever a moment that was mine?

Not carved from someone else’s hands—

not stitched with shame and shoulds?

I was born,

and the world handed me a script

before I knew how to speak.

They dressed me in colors I never chose,

put dolls in my lap

and silence in my mouth.

They smiled when I obeyed,

when I nodded instead of questioned,

when I traded sparks for safety.

Every laugh was borrowe...

Poetry

Paper Boats

Cassette A.

1 min read

We folded paper boats with clumsy care,

your tiny fingers pressing mine,

soft with spring,

soft with beginnings.

The stream giggled over rocks

as if it knew

we needed laughter.

You ran ahead—bare feet

crushing dandelions with joy,

calling back to me,

voice bright as the sky.

I called your name,

but the sun,

always the sun,

would not let me see your face.

We watched ducks drift past

in lazy chore...

Poetry

Of Her, and the Sun

Cassette A.

1 min read

It touched me today—

The sunlight.

Soft, golden, bold in its return.

I stood quite still,

As though the warmth might vanish if I breathed too loudly.

It reminded me—

Not of summer,

But of her.

Not her beauty, for that would be too simple.

But the way her hair loosens at the nape by evening,

How she presses her lips together when thinking,

Then forgets to unpress them for minutes after.

She woul...

Poetry

In the Details

Cassette A.

2 min read

The studio smelled of turpentine and orange peels, sunlight slanting in through the high windows like liquid gold. Canvases leaned like drunken soldiers against the far wall, all of them incomplete. The only finished piece—an oil painting of a woman with a storm in her eyes and a half-smile playing on her lips—hung above the easel like a quiet deity.

“You’re wasting your time,” the muse said flat...