"i’d Memorize You In Ways You Forgot You Existed"

It was kind of a dick move to create animals that require air, then confine them to the freaking ocean

The silence is unbearable.

No words are spoken but everything else is so loud.

"So much soothing voice"

it hurts to be away from you

far more than unscrewed sharpeners ever can

I had so much love for you

But u never accepted it

It's still on the shelf of my living room

In a diary of our could haves and what ifs

If You Were a Poem

By Astrum

If you were a poem,

I would read you in whispers under candlelight,

tracing every syllable like a secret I was never meant to know.

Your laughter would be italicized,

soft and leaning into the edges of midnight.

Your sorrows?

Those would be bold —

unafraid, unapologetically beautiful.

I would fold you into the corners of my journals,

tuck you beneath my breath,

and let no one but the moon know

how deeply I have memorized your lines.

You are the poem I never dared to write,

and yet somehow,

I’ve been reading you all my life.

lulling waters

“come closer, but don’t flinch”

> come closer, but don’t flinch when you see the places I’ve bled quietly. I am not soft in the way you expect — I am soft like wildfire, like midnight rain that forgets to be gentle. I love like this: with cracked palms, shaking breath, and a heart too heavy to float but too stubborn to drown. if you want me, know this: I won’t promise easy, but I will promise real. raw fingertips. unhidden scars. midnight confessions no one else has ever touched. come closer. and if you stay— I’ll hand you everything I’ve ever buried under my ribs.

Don't Leave Me

“I only asked for forever once”

I wasn’t asking for much, was I? Just a hand that wouldn’t let go when life got heavier than love. Just eyes that could see the mess inside me and say “stay anyway.” I only asked for forever once. Just once. But forever is expensive when people have pockets full of half-promises and hearts stitched together with exit wounds. They said “I love you” like it was currency, spent fast, forgot faster. But me? I meant every word like an oath. I carved it into my ribs — I don’t love on rental, I love like home. And maybe that’s my tragedy — giving forever to people who were only passing through. So here I am again, writing poems to ghosts, building altars out of ache, loving harder in memory than I was ever loved in real time. And yet — I’d still do it all again. Because some hearts don’t know how to love small.