Traveler in a Suitcase!

I walked through the river

with no regrets to spare.

It welcomed me not as victim,

but as something it already knew.

Not to disappear,

but to see if silence

would feel like peace

this time.

I could drown here.

And I do.

But my lungs have learned the language

of quiet suffocation.

They say I pulled them in.

That my current

was too much.

Too persuasive.

Too me.

But no one saw the way

I kept sinking

just to make them float.

My body was temporary.

So was my kindness.

My mind cracked

in soft lines no one noticed.

It wasn’t a breakdown.

Just erosion.

They speak of betrayal

like it’s a future event.

But I’ve felt it

in every apology

that arrived too late.

And still,

they say I’m the influence.

The one who ruins.

The one who knows too much.

Fine.

Let them name me villain

if it helps them sleep.

I walked into the river.

Not with regret,

just resignation.

It’s easier to drown

when you stop pretending

you want to breathe.

Because the truth?

Once the water claims you,

you don’t rise.

You just stop needing air

the way others do.

- Ikkel Y. - 

You were sky,

the kind that holds water

without letting it fall.

You could’ve cried.

You didn’t.

You held the weight

like mercy disguised as silence.

You told lies

with good intentions.

And they cracked you open

in places no one saw.

Softness,

it seems,

is the most dangerous thing

to carry.

You were always light.

Even when you pulled the curtains closed

and let the dark tuck you in

like a secret.

You called it safety.

I called it surrender.

If only they knew,

darkness is not absence.

It’s light, turned inward.

And some hearts only survive

by glowing where no one looks.

Don’t be alone.

It wrecks me.

Even from here.

Even like this.

If your joy means

watching you from the edge of the frame,

then I’ll watch.

Quietly. Always.

Don’t look back.

I ruin what I reach for.

And I won’t let that happen to you

again.

Build the walls.

Close the gate.

Etch me out of the picture

if it means you can breathe again.

I’ll carry the version of us

that doesn’t hurt.

There was a teddy bear in the shop window.
Not rare. Not extravagant. Just there.
Warmed by the way others looked at it,
like proximity made it more lovable.

I stood outside and rehearsed logic. Like I always do.
Look, don’t touch.
Want, but don’t reach.

It made sense.
Until it didn’t.

Because when I came back,
the shelf had straightened itself.
You were gone in a way that didn’t even hurt.
Just… corrected.

And I...

I would have held you. Not because you were perfect.
But because wanting you
was the first thing I couldn’t solve.

I'm still learning to rewrite the formula:
“I don’t deserve” might mean
I was too afraid to choose you while you were still real.