Journal fragmentsAlmost loversLetting goLonelinessMorally grey charactersRight person, wrong timeOld flamesNostalgiaMutual pining
six kilometers per hour
inspired by the songs bleeding through my ears while running
beautiful ache / preserved softly
Stories for the ache that stayed.
A home for melancholic light novels, unsent letters, fractured romance, salt air, old wounds, and sweetness sharp enough to hurt.
- 6
- stories preserved
- 17
- letters published
- 19 July 2026
- last ache archived
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Journal fragmentsLettersDoomed romanceFormer loversLetting goOld flamesMorally grey charactersUnsent lettersRight person, wrong timeNostalgiaAnxietyEating disorders
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In the end, after all that weather, all those birthdays, all those almosts, the thing broke over a text. A dumb text. A certificate date. A failed application. His disappointment arriving too sharply. Her pride answering too quietly. He said he had tried so hard to help her. She said maybe it was not meant to be. And then neither of them reached again. After all the times she had wanted him to choose, after all the times he had stood near enough for them to feel destined, the last door closed because she did not have the courage to knock twice.
fragments of the yesteryears
i used to think i have no trauma growing up. put together. pristine. but stillness is almost always a predisposing signal for chaos. the storm that i was raised with, now quiet, waiting for another bout.
backs and forths from my twenty-four
A five-part journal sequence from 2022, written through the unstable weather of being twenty-four: loneliness mistaken for love, old ghosts returning in familiar shapes, the grief of giving too much, and the quiet shock of being loved gently. These fragments move back and forth between ache and recovery, between wanting someone against the universe and learning that worthy people do not need to be begged into staying.
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six kilometers per hour
inspired by the songs bleeding through my ears while running
supercuts
In the end, after all that weather, all those birthdays, all those almosts, the thing broke over a text. A dumb text. A certificate date. A failed application. His disappointment arriving too sharply. Her pride answering too quietly. He said he had tried so hard to help her. She said maybe it was not meant to be. And then neither of them reached again. After all the times she had wanted him to choose, after all the times he had stood near enough for them to feel destined, the last door closed because she did not have the courage to knock twice.
11:47
A man finds himself in a time-loop at a convenience store where he met his ex-girlfriend for the first time, trying to find a timeline where they ended up together.
fragments of the yesteryears
i used to think i have no trauma growing up. put together. pristine. but stillness is almost always a predisposing signal for chaos. the storm that i was raised with, now quiet, waiting for another bout.
backs and forths from my twenty-four
A five-part journal sequence from 2022, written through the unstable weather of being twenty-four: loneliness mistaken for love, old ghosts returning in familiar shapes, the grief of giving too much, and the quiet shock of being loved gently. These fragments move back and forth between ache and recovery, between wanting someone against the universe and learning that worthy people do not need to be begged into staying.
flowers for a ghost
Handwritten letters throughout the years that was never sent, yet the ink keeps on spilling.