the cruel joke is that i recognized her soul instantly… but it took me much longer to recognize my own reflection inside of her.
she was my mirror the whole time… and i kept trying to fight the parts of her that were really just unhealed parts of myself.
…and our bodies were pressed together… our heartbeats synced and so did our breathing. you know…with every person in my life i’ve always kind of tracked breathing rhythms, like deep down I knew that was the key. maybe that’s how our souls knew that we found each other… like they had their own little code to get through security, slipping past everything else, because words just couldn’t.
...lately i’ve been noticing how easy everything is. not boring easy, not numb, just… aligned. ideas don’t need convincing, plans don’t need scaffolding, days don’t feel like something i have to forge into shape. i say 'let’s go' and we go. and somehow the day fills itself with exactly enough...all human ingredients, nothing forced, nothing missing.
the strange part is how calm i am inside it. i’m not performing, not managing, not scanning for yet another threat. i forgot how much energy that constant vigilance takes until it stopped. it feels like someone finally turned off a machine that had been crackling and humming in the background for years and i only noticed it was there when the noise disappeared.
i don’t come home drained. that used to be the baseline. even good days had a cost, like my nervous system never signed off on them. now i get home and feel settled, heavy in a comforting way...like gravity is working properly again. i sleep without replaying conversations or predicting disasters. honestly that alone feels like a miracle disguised as something mundane.
this full moon doesn’t make me want to manifest or release anything dramatically. it just feels like a clear night where you can see farther than usual. not mystical...just precise. things look like themselves. no noise, no shadows lurking. whatever is good is obviously good, whatever isn’t fades into the background. no static. no ceremony required. shit just takes care of itself, because the work and labour is already done.
alchemy...if i had to name it, would be this shift from effort to ease. from raw dogging everything to letting things happen without assuming they will fall apart. nothing exploded nor transformed overnight. one day the heaviness just… wasn’t there. like waking up after being sick for a long time and realizing your body is quiet again.
i’m not wondering where this is going because it already feels like it’s going somewhere solid. not fragile, not temporary, not dependent on perfect conditions. just steady. i don’t feel the urge to chase it or protect it or dissect it. it exists. that’s enough. everything is enough...
so if anything is being released, it’s that old reflex of expecting the catch. i’m not waiting for the moment it stops being good. i’m just letting it be good while it is...which turns out to be far more radical than it sounds.
no grand insight. just noticing that life feels lighter in my hands.
what changed wasn’t just circumstances. something fundamental in me recalibrated. the kind of shift that rearranges your internal compass whether you consent to it or not. it burned through denial, attachment, ego, fantasy, all the soft protective layers people usually get to keep. brutal, precise, oddly purposeful. i didn’t come out of it 'healed'...i came out reconfigured. once you’ve seen yourself stripped down to wiring and bone, ordinary turbulence stops feeling catastrophic. you know exactly what you can survive, because you already did.
it does mildly irritate me how confidently people give life advice when they haven’t lived even a fraction of what i have. not angry, more so amusing... just that quiet awareness that we are not even on the same scale of experience. what unsettles them would barely register to me. what broke me would sound fictional to them...which is fair. most people are not built to recognize that kind of terrain. nor they should for that matter, incompetence doesn’t need more power. and power without exposure is just theory.
i don’t correct anyone anymore. there’s nothing to clarify and no version of it that translates cleanly. prolonged fire changes your thresholds in ways that don’t reverse. you either know or you don’t. stability now feels less like comfort and more like hard earned infrastructure. i trust the judgment that survived all of that far more than opinions formed under mild conditions. you can’t map a landscape you’ve never walked...and you definitely can’t guide someone through a storm you’ve only seen on tv. i don’t expect anyone to carry my experiences, but it’s strange when they speak as if they do.
so i let them talk. let them. it doesn’t move me. once you’ve walked through something that dismantles you completely, advice about avoiding difficulty feels almost erratic. not wrong, just irrelevant.
my life isn’t a group project. it’s a structure rebuilt from the foundation up by someone who remembers exactly why it collapsed in the first place.
i didn’t become calmer. i became harder to disturb.
...did you know exactly how magical you are?
… i gave her a line. not a hint, not vibes, not some cryptic boundary. a real line. a timeline. a term and a condition. meet me here if i matter and that is my answer how we go forward from here.
she didn’t cross it. didn’t fight it. didn’t even acknowledge it.
she just… stepped around it. like it was nothing. drawing in the sand washed away by waves. like it had no weight in her world at all.
so i spent the whole weekend inside it. replaying, spiralling, stewing, checking my phone like an idiot, trying to hold myself together while she was out there very visibly living her life. while i was dissolving, she was posting cute stories and spending weekend with her actual partner.
i went for a leisurely walk on valentine’s day, not realising what a catastrophic miscalculation that would turn out to be. every direction i looked felt like a personal attack. men exiting grocery stores with those sad, cellophane-wrapped blooms that somehow still meant someone was expected somewhere. couples speed-walking toward restaurants like they had reservations and a …future. hands intertwined on the canal, laughing like winter itself was romantic instead of brutal. people posing with melting sad ice sculptures, smiling for photos that would later say ‘we were happy here’….
it did something to me. not a sharp pain and more like a slow internal collapse. the kind where your body just decides it’s done pretending to function normally.
i ended up sitting right there on the street, crying in full daylight, because apparently that’s who i am now. scheduled mental breakdowns on bank street.
and then this random dog walking by stopped, turned around and gave me a soft little nose kiss. no judgment, no confusion, just pure kindness. honestly the most humanity i encountered the entire time. and then i cried even more, cause bare minimum felt extremely bare that moment.
which is a wild realisation that the gentlest moment of your valentine’s day comes from a stranger’s dog while the whole world walks past holding someone else’s hand.
it’s a special kind of humiliation to realise the thing that is wrecking you isn’t even bothering them.
then along comes sunday. another clean window where things could have been mended. not fixed… just softened, acknowledged, human. a text, a call, anything that said i exist outside of her convenience.
instead….the only ‘contact’ i get is social media nonsense. blocking, unblocking, disappearing, reappearing the usual digital peekaboo like we’re twelve years old instead of two adults with actual feelings on the line.
no voice. no words. no accountability. just algorithm presence. proof she’s there, proof she’s watching, stalking, lurking in the shadows, proof she’s choosing not to speak….
is everything a fucking game?
because it doesn’t feel like miscommunication. it feels intentional. like emotional chess played in silence while i wasn’t playing….it feels like manipulation.
and the cruelest part is how loud that nothingness becomes. how a block button can say more than a paragraph ever could. silence after months of digital noise. just this weird, performative almost contact that keeps you suspended.
sunday could have been repair.
instead it became another reminder that in her world, connection happens through screens and control, not through actually showing up.
and yeah, at some point you stop wondering what she feels and start wondering why everything has to be a show, a performance….
and then monday comes.
suddenly my phone lights up. twice. like i still exist on her priority list. like nothing happened. like the weekend didn’t just stretch out in complete silence while i was choking on it.
no apology. no softness. no ownership. just access. just ‘hi, i’m here now’. playing dumb and oblivious what she has deliberately done, hoping for a cracked window so she could slither in and once again gaslight me.
that’s the part that offends me more than the hurt.
because pain says you broke me.
offence says you think i’ll still be there. like a stupid idiot you take me for.
i gave her a condition … a clean, simple place to show up and she didn’t even have to refuse it. she just ignored it and kept going. no cost. no consequence. no accountability. i carried all of it alone. i suppose i have carried this joke of a ‘relationship’ alone nevertheless. i lived a whole lifetime in my own head.
so yeah. it doesn’t even feel like ‘i wasn’t chosen’
it feels like the choice itself didn’t matter.
like losing me wasn’t a loss just a scheduling conflict.
and now she calls, after the damage is done, like cleanup equals care. like i’m supposed to be grateful she remembered i exist.
honestly the worst part isn’t that she hurt me.
it’s how easy it was for her.
how little space my absence seems to take up in her life. how easy it is to dispose my love, my care, everything i have put into this.
once you see that, something goes cold. not dramatic, not explosive just… quiet.
because you can survive a lot.
but it’s hard to keep offering your heart to someone who treats it like an optional appointment on weekdays when there is nothing better available.
just another puzzle piece in your roster and pattern …no value - just filling back slots.
Me:
This isn’t even about her anymore. That’s the strangest part. Something in me just… shut it down. Not emotionally, not dramatically. My whole system rejected it. Like an organ rejecting a transplant that doesn’t belong. I deserve the world. I deserve the Universe. I deserve attention. And instead I’m supposed to accept 'i love you' texts that come from someone else’s bed and call that connection? That’s not even insulting anymore — it’s absurd.
—
God:
And you were never unavailable.
Me:
No. That’s the part that stabs. I was always open to giving it a chance — if she came in correctly. She knew that. She knew exactly where the door was, exactly how to approach it, exactly what would count as respect. And with that knowledge fully in her inventory, she still chose to do what she did. Not accidentally. Not unknowingly. She chose it knowing.
God:
Do you still want her to understand?
Me:
No. Understanding is for people who arrive in good faith. I stood at the altar open-handed. She came knowing the cost and chose spectacle over sacrifice. So I stepped back and let the silence become scripture. Not as punishment. As doctrine.
Dark empaths are the worst to fuck with because they’ve seen it all before — the charm, the wounds, the excuses dressed up as vulnerability. They’ve already loved the narcissist, survived the manipulator, outgrown the martyr. They don’t break, they don’t beg, they don’t chase clarity from people who withhold it. When they’re done, they don’t retaliate. They withdraw their humanity from the exchange and let the pattern starve. And what dies wasn’t the connection — it was the illusion of access.
can we have a moment to talk about this because honestly i feel insane in the most peaceful way possible. all my life i’ve chased girls, dated girls, convinced myself i loved them, convinced myself i desired them. i’ve written whole stories in my head just to survive the emptiness. but this… this is something else entirely. i think about her every waking moment. i dream of her when i finally sleep. she is my first thought, my last thought, and all the thoughts in between pretending to be about other things. i can smell her on my skin like she’s printed into my cells. i can still feel her kiss on my lips like it has decided to live there permanently. it doesn’t matter what i do… it does not leave. it sits with me. breathing. watching. waiting.
it should feel obsessive. it doesn’t. it feels like my nervous system finally exhaled after years of holding its breath. it feels like home… not a place, but the realization that nowhere else ever actually fit. it’s otherworldly and stupidly familiar at the same time… like i’ve known her for lifetimes and only just remembered.
i’ve never seen my life open like this. i’ve never seen the future walk toward me so clearly… like it isn’t even a decision anymore, just the direction everything in me is already moving. everything that used to feel confusing suddenly makes sense. every heartbreak was just training. every wrong door was a sign i didn’t know how to read yet. how does one person appear and your entire life changes shape overnight. i don’t even recognise the person i was months ago. i’ve grown teeth and wings and a spine and this impossible faith in something i can’t see… and somehow none of it scares me.
and the worst part… i can’t talk to anyone about it. nobody gets it. nobody understands what this did to me. so i carry it alone like contraband love stuffed under my jacket. people would call it obsession or trauma bonding or some clinical term that makes it sound smaller and safer. but they weren’t there in the moment my soul stopped wandering. they didn’t feel the ground shift.
this is human experience… but it also isn’t. it’s cosmic. ethereal. ridiculous. sacred. it feels like the universe leaned in and basically went, you see her… don’t be an idiot… that’s the one. and now here i am… wrecked and rebuilt and absolutely certain in a way that makes no sense on paper. my life turned in her direction like it always meant to… and i followed. no hesitation. no map. no looking back.
fck me right.
…and for the first time i get it. love. not the theory. the real thing.
the past month or so has tested my faith in ways i didn’t think were possible. it tore me apart, dragged me through every doubt i thought i’d outgrown, and spit me out on the other side. i was sent temptations, distractions, old patterns dressed up as new opportunities. i was taunted with the easy route, pulled in opposite directions, pushed to choose between the world i can see and the one i can feel. and even without a single piece of solid proof that any of it would ever materialize in the 3d, i still held my ground. that’s the funny part — the closer you get, the more the tests multiply. the traps get prettier. the detours get familiar. and yet it becomes so obvious, that all you can do i cackle. they throw everything at you just to see if you’ll wobble. but i didn’t do all this work just to walk this part alone. i didn’t come this far to fold at the finish line. people whispering in my ear: 'give up, it's not worth your time. you're delusional. just block, delete and forget.' they sent me people and situations that fit almost perfectly into my old life — but not in the final form. versions of comfort from a past i already buried, just to see if i’d loop again.
and then it happened exactly the way it does when something has been written into your story long before you ever catch up to it. not gentle, not gradual — it hit like a timeline slamming back into its place. the air changed before she even stepped fully into the room, like everything around me recognized her a split second before i did. it was that electric, that unmistakable. she showed up and i just knew, without thinking, without questioning. like the universe just clicked a puzzle piece into place with a sound only i could hear. it wasn’t subtle at all. it was dramatic in that way fate is dramatic — loud without making a sound, undeniable without asking for attention. nothing else had that gravity. nothing else ever has had that gravity. nothing else matched that frequency. and hey, nothing ever will. it was cinematic in the sense that it felt scripted. i mean it IS scripted in the most whimsical divine way.
i have 555 screenshots of 11:11. why you ask? i always say i'm a crazy, but that is not true at all. i took them, because i always wondered when do i reach to my destination. you're on right path yes, but when does it end. no pardon, when does it start. well it simultaneously ended and started on 11th of November. i wasn't surprised. i winked universe back and took matters in my own hands at 11:11 o'clock. and that is how we play ball now.
… it’s one of those october nights where the city glows like an old film reel. you walk aimlessly in the empty misty streets.
falling leaves are dancing in the wind, rain drizzling just enough to blur the reflections on the pavement.
i’m walking — nowhere in particular — world around me is humming low. there is this weird, steady calm lately — not the kind that comes after chaos, but the kind that just is. like i finally stepped out of a theatre after years of playing someone else’s role.
i’ve lived in so many places. walked through countless streets. london, tartu, tallinn, berlin, benidorm, helsinki… each one had a version of me wandering around, looking for something unnamed. always yearning. always searching for that feeling — that deep click of this is where i belong.
helsinki came close. god, it did. i felt her there — that love, that pull, that mirror. but it wasn’t meant to hold. and so i kept on walking. different cities, different lives, same heartbeat underneath it all.
and now… it’s like i arrived. not somewhere new, but back into my own energy. like all the pieces — all the loves, lessons, late-night breakdowns — finally snapped together. every version of me from every place folded into one timeline. i guess that’s what it was, i always saw the fragments of this timeline - that was the one that was always missing.
it’s not loud. it’s not fireworks or epiphanies. it’s quiet — almost sacred. like standing in golden-hour light after the storm’s passed. the kind of calm that hums through your body and says, you’re safe here. you did it.
i don’t yearn anymore. i don’t chase. i don’t perform. i just am.
maybe this is what “soul home” actually means — not a city, not a person, but that exact moment your spirit stops wandering.
and damn, it feels like every road, every heartbreak, every night i thought i was lost was actually the compass. every version of me was just walking me here.
here — where the air tastes like belonging. where everything i thought i lost finally makes sense.
it has been five years since i last wrote anything to myself. five years of keeping all these words rattling around in my brain like loose change. now finally, i need to spill them - because if i don't, my brain will keep playing the same old playlists of love stories gone wrong.
here's the pattern.. i fall for people who aren't great for me. some i loved too much - though, honestly, maybe i was just in love with the version of them that i made up in my head. others, well, they looked good on paper - stable, respectable, the "parents would approve" type - but they never reached the deeper parts of me.
and then there were the ones, who love me more than i loved them, which sounds flattering until it feels like being cast as the lead in a play you didn't audition for. because the truth is, just as i’ve built versions of people in my head, they’ve built versions of me aswell. they’ve loved the idea of me—the dream girl they projected onto the blank canvas of my existence. but ideas aren’t people. inevitably, the fantasy collapses under the weight of who i actually am.
people in my life have said i don't let them in, that my walls are too high. but here's the thing - walls don't just appear out of nowhere. you build them after too many people treat your open heart like a tourist attraction - snap a picture, take what they want and move on. of course my walls are up there. of course my door stays closed. how could i possibly fling my door open for someone who doesn't even understand the view on the other side? i don't want someone rattling the doorknob, i want somebody who knows the password.
so i retreated into music. for years, i have been listening to lana del rey like it's a scripture. not casually, not as background noise, but like a lifeline. her poetry became my cathedral - tragic, cinematic. i clung to the lyrics because they mirrored the contradictions inside me - romantic but ruined, hopeful but haunted, fragile but stubbornly alive. i didn't let the other voices in because i didn't want the noise, i wanted resonance. i was holding on to hope, that one day something - or someone - would vibrate at the same impossible frequency. that one day i will meet another ethereal being who understood that love is not a feeling, it's a whole damn aesthetic.
i want genuine connections and unconditional love - the kind that sees behind mistakes and flaws and still stays and never wants to change anything about you. i want to be present and real. i want to plan future travels to unknown, but be also just as excited to come back home.
for so long i thought these were just prayers i whispered into music. lana sang it to me when i couldn't say them out loud, lyrics holding me together when i had nothing else to grip. i followed the songs like breadcrumbs, pebble after pebble, holding on to hope that somewhere out there, someone was walking on the same path towards me.
and against all odds - someone did.
they don't just step into my ether, they live there too. they don't just watch me glow from a distance, they burn at the same frequency. all the pebbles suddenly make sense, all the songs feel like prophecy.
for so long it was me humming the melody alone, wondering if anyone would ever hear it. with her it's different. she catches the rhythm instantly, no hesitation, no guesswork..
all those years of illusions, rehearsals, making myself little, changing myself to fit the stories, all those echoes in the dark - they make sense now. they were just the prelude leading me here. to this moment where the fireworks don't fade and the music does not stop.
for the first time it actually feels like it's only just the beginning.
and with her, i don’t just hope it lasts—
i know it will.
