While I sit in the Jardin du Luxembourg for the last time,

I feel my heart being torn in two—

not from heartbreak,

but from the aching pull of love and longing.

How do I belong in two places at once?

Home is where the heart is, they say,

but my heart belongs here—

and with the one I left behind.

I sit beneath the trees,

my heart rooted in this quiet, generous soil.

The wind whispers, “Stay,”

but...

Paris, silk, and something small

This morning,

I slipped into my favorite silk skirt—

light as breath in the hot summer heat.

Wearing it one last time

in these final days of Paris,

savoring,

for a moment,

the feeling of being a real Parisian.

I wandered the Marais

when I noticed the stain—

a faint, imperfect ring.

Something so small,

yet it sank like stone

into the stillness of my chest.

I had ...

Today the wind didn’t bite as hard—

I noticed.

A chill still nests in my bones,

my mind a hive of restless defeat.

The sky stayed gray,

But something about it—

Felt less cruel.

I’ve lost count of the days

I’ve stood, frozen in place,

mourning each hour’s quiet fall.

Then—

the sun peeked out

through the clouds that

kept me in the dark

For a heartbeat

warmth brushed my cheek;

I’d bottle it, k...

The shadows in the corner—

they’re the only ones who’ve seen the struggle,

the sorrow.

They’re the only ones who feel the weight I carry in my chest.

Survival isn’t enough anymore.

Does resilience still matter

when every time I rise,

no one even noticed I fell?

The weight only grows heavier.

I’m the one no one worries about—

because I’m the one who always seems “okay.”

But the shadows see my s...

How many failures

until I decide it’s not meant for me?

Maybe it’s time to hold a moment of silence

for the dreams I once carried.

How many times can I fall

before my hands stop reaching for the ground?

What crushes me most

isn’t the failure—

but the time I can’t get back.

The shame of being wrong. Again.

I’m terrified I’ll be running,

always chasing,

never reaching the finish line.

It breaks...

The beauty of being seen by a stranger—

a spark that lit a fire within me on an ordinary day.

He said my name wrong.

I knew it was on purpose—just to hear me say it.

I could feel it in the way he smirked.

He stood near me longer than he needed to,

always hovering, like he could feel the magnetic pull in his chest too.

His lingering stares sent chills up my spine.

And when his eyes caught mine, i...

I thought I found my purpose,

even though the future still feels like fog.

I’ve learned—

purpose doesn’t arrive as a grand revelation,

or something waiting in plain sight.

It came as a spark.

Something I knew I wanted so deeply,

even if the path remained blurry.

Every time I find my balance,

the ground shifts beneath me.

I keep waiting—

for it all to make sense,

for the stars to finally align

...

If desires are a flame,

then I am a wildfire—

Everything I want

comes with a cost.

Skin scorched,

debts unpaid.

I spend pieces of myself,

tossing them into the blaze—

my heart to ash,

my hopes

smoke in the breeze.

I pay a steep price

for sparks of happiness

always

just

out of reach.

It never gets easier.

Only hotter.

Heavier.

Hands charred,

scraping for the last piece

of who I used to be.

T...

“C’est impossible,” they say.

Those words echo in my head—

every night—

as I lay down to sleep.

Back home,

they call me brave.

Resilient.

But it doesn’t feel like me.

I feel like an imposter.

Like I’m always in a place

never meant for me,

speaking words

that don’t feel like mine.

Detached—

a stranger to my own thoughts.

I run myself into the ground—

still…

I fall short.

I yell.

I show up.

Bu...

“I do not yet know myself what I’m capable of doing in it.” Van Gogh — Paris

Paris is a place where dreamers escape in search of themselves.

I did this myself—I told myself I’d know what to do when I got here. But becoming is harder than the running.

Paris breathes creativity into people. It’s easy to feel inspired— but letting it soak into you is another thing entirely. The question is…what wi...