I keep walking.
Not forward, just… on.
Like a cursor blinking through rooms that call themselves home
and mean “temporary shelter.”
We were born in different weather.
You were the roof. I was the siren.
You warmed a room. I measured exits.
Call it equal if you like, two wrong answers balancing.
Why do they call it strength
when the body simply refuses shutdown?
Pain pulls the fire alarm;
they file out in orderly lines and call it resilience
Why does the mask pass audit?
I polish the museum-face,
set the smile to ambient,
let the earthquake happen behind glass.
Why do they name it peace
when it’s just noise under a pillow?
I map exits, breathe on the one that unlatches,
keep myself small enough to pass through policy.
Why praise the aftermath
like the building rebuilt itself?
I’m the scaffold no one budgets for.
Bolts in my teeth, shaking.
And why, after all that,
are they permitted motion
while I am the hallway that never ends?
Strong, they say.
Survived, they say.
The machine is running.
The body complied.
I am here.
I have not moved
Don’t say you love me
while your footsteps keep their own appointment.
Don’t say you miss me
if the room learned your shape and survived.
Don’t practice crying
when you’ve never held the after-silence of losing.
Don’t hand me promises
printed on erasable paper.
Don’t place your warmth in my palms
if it’s rented by the hour.
You change like bus schedules.
Announced, delayed, justified.
Meanwhile my love goes underground,
deeper, quieter, building tunnels you’ll never name.
Do not call this strength.
It’s compliance: a face that passes inspection.
Do not call this peace.
It’s the noise turned low enough to work in.
I won’t translate the bruise of staying.
You won’t feel the gravity of it.
You will leave correctly.
I will remain.
Unfinished, intact, and still somehow falling
I thought i'm gonna write about another dark feelings
But need to be stopped for today because today is quite special!
I could hear BTS newest song in English
IN ENGLISH
and their melody quite put me in such an energetic mood
and their melody quite put me in such an energetic mood
i Love beat song, can we hear it together?
I won't type full lyrics but gonna tell you little bit:
"This is getting Heavy
can you hear the bass boom?
I'm ready
Life is sweet as honey
Yeah, this beat cha-ching like money
Disco overload, I'm into that, I'm good to go"
So I' ma light it up like dynamite, woah"
Just a little peek with the lyrics, you could find their full lyrics in anywhere i think
This song is really the song that I've been waiting for
Now I shouldn't need to translate their lyrics one by one again
You could also find the instrumental one in Spotify also
I've been repeating the song now in my spotify till i got tired with it LOL
This song is literally catchy and can't wait for another English song from BTS!!
I wish I could hate you,
but the city won’t let me file that form.
The window says maintenance.
The cursor thinks I’m exaggerating.
I wish I were the variable you needed,
the constant you solved for without notes,
instead I’m the margin math you erase
before anyone sees what it cost.
You were the answer I would not speak.
I was the question you refused to read.
How could you grasp the bruise of staying
when I learned to pass inspection by not bleeding.
I was the question you refused to read.
How could you grasp the bruise of staying
when I learned to pass inspection by not bleeding.
I kept a seat for your arrival.
Gate open, announcement pending.
The board kept changing times,
and I kept pretending clocks were loyal.
I waited like infrastructure:
quiet, load-bearing, unpraised.
I set out the cups, labeled the drawers,
trained my hands not to shake when nothing arrived.
I told myself not to blame myself.
Then translated blame into efficiency:
reduce warmth, conserve motion,
call the ache a policy decision.
I wish I could hate you,
but you were the exit I memorized in a burning room.
I wish I could hate you,
so I could walk out without counting the steps twice.
You never came. That’s the headline.
The footnote says I understood.
Understanding is the softest prison.
Doors open, sentence ongoing.
So I archive the noise,
live at a volume that passes for peace,
and keep the light like a statistic:
low, steady, deniable.
live at a volume that passes for peace,
and keep the light like a statistic:
low, steady, deniable.
If anyone asks, it’s about weather.
About timetables. About a house that keeps its shape.
Only I know it’s a body relearning
how to leave without leaving.
how to leave without leaving.
Warmth is a rental.
The room keeps the receipt.
I hold the mug until the heat times out,
pretend the steam is a policy I agreed to.
Happiness passes inspection,
brief as an elevator stop.
I smile on schedule so the cameras log
“operational.” The glitch resumes between floors.
Numbness isn’t empty.
It’s frost over live wires,
quieting the sparks so the building
doesn’t learn my name.
Pain has a low visibility setting.
Public-facing: clear skies.
Backend: red banners, silent alarms,
maintenance ticket closed without repair.
I can carry it. I always do.
Carrying isn’t curing.
Scaffold is strong until the wind remembers.
Then I become angles and compliance.
They won’t see it. That was the bargain.
I keep my weather indoors.
The forecast prints “mild.”
My bones read “storm, continuing.”
Truth arrives like an expiry date
stamped into the soft part of the day.
I read it twice, underline once,
file it where the light can’t follow.
It hurts.
Of course it does.
To touch anything warm with borrowed hands,
To know the lease ends at closing time,
To lock up, lights off, still burning
I’m sorry
for the malfunction
For the way my system chooses blackout to keep the lights on.
You’ve seen the ash-version of me.
Everyone prefers the museum-white.
I love you in the way policies love compliance:
without ceremony, underlined once, filed where hands don’t reach.
If I had to describe you perfectly,
I’d use the word I don’t believe in and mark it “redacted.”
My boy,
not a boy.
A constant.
Life keeps auditing the structure.
I fall like loose screws.
You keep standing like load-bearing.
I wish for the impossible the way trains wish for extra track.
If this route ends here, fine.
Leave a transfer slip at the edge of the map.
I’ll meet you next timetable.
Future with you
can't be imagined
present with you
is happiness
Don't forget about past
that you were mine
Don't forget about the future
that I will always pray for your happiness
A future with you doesn’t render; the present does.
Clean, minimal, enough.
Happiness arrives stamped “temporary use,”
but the warmth fits my hands like it was measured.
Don’t forget the archive that says we were once the same room.
Don’t forget the unsigned plan where your name keeps reappearing.
And if memory asks for proof, give it this:
I stayed in place so you’d have a fixed point to navigate by.
If anyone asks, it’s just weather.
Privately: it’s a storm that learned my schedule.
Public-facing: I’m fine.
Backend: I’m praying you stay unbroken.
And if we can’t share this life,
I’ll wait at the next checkpoint,
quiet as a green light,
pretending it isn’t for me
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