“come Closer, But Don’t Flinch”

Paint

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Dabbing his brush in paint,

Sweeping all his worries away.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A careful mix of colours and hues,

A careful tinge of another shade,

A story that never fades.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A bleak landscape of monochromes,

So very little tint,

A figure standing all alone.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

Lush green landscapes,

So very simple,

A doorway to escape.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Painting a scene so lovely,

Whose model is as sweet as honey.

My Answer Is: At Least 37

How many times today

did you picture me

face down, ass up

moaning

and gasping your name?

.

.

It's not about how long you've known someone, but about who walked into your life, said 'I'm here for you,' and proved it."

Yours Astrum.

"The heart that truly loves never forgets."

Astrum

“I write slowly… with depth…”

Whispers Between Pages By Astrum

I have always trusted the quiet of untold stories, the soft ache that lingers between what is written and what is merely felt.

I do not chase endings — I unfold them, slowly, like paper worn thin by longing and hands that know the weight of memory.

Somewhere between ink and skin, I found my truest voice — not to speak louder, but to listen deeper to the words that choose to find me first.

“I don’t ask for forever — I just ask for real”

I don’t want promises painted gold at midnight only to peel by morning. I don’t crave fairytales that fall apart the moment reality touches them. I just want someone who looks me in the eyes and says — “I can’t guarantee always… but I can give you honesty. I can give you the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get messy. The kind that stays soft even when life turns hard.” I want real. I want the kind of connection that doesn’t vanish when I forget how to smile or when I show my scars instead of my skin. I want fingertips that trace not just my body, but my brokenness — and still choose to stay. Don’t promise me forever. Promise me presence. Promise me truth, even if it’s inconvenient. Promise me warmth that doesn’t run when I collapse at 2 AM. I don’t ask for perfect. I just ask for real. Because real is rare, and rare is enough to be everything.

♥️☕︎︎.

Maybe love is not chasing and begging for you, Maybe it is a quiet afternoon nap, no text to be anxious about, diet cokes and windows and screaming and laughing, for it is summer now, and you don't exist to me...

Don't Leave Me

lets bother mama