𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇

💭

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

What’s it about June that’s got everyone in a mood.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

Perhaps in another life, another reality, things could have been different.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

@Fa_Reedah12

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

Only in their dreams can men truly be free!

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

“What am I?”
- To define is to limit.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

We don’t have much time.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

@AbdulmumeenMuk3 @Lonngman_

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

Men under 30 ask anything, men over 30 answer

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

@Maxigenius_ This is deep 🥀

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

@smileonsolana_ 5NNMojLXbx3ULGueeBpCk6wKckQ96MWFzDq7NaSpmAHk

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

@Lonngman_ Perhaps so💐

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

“Will life ever grant us eternal happiness or are we only meant to touch it briefly, long enough to know it exits but never long enough to keep it”

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance.
It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood.

- Anaïs Nin

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

Of all the ways to lose a person,
Death is the kindest.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

And if happiness should surprise you again, do not mention its previous betrayal.
Enter into the happiness, and burst.

- Mahmoud Darwish

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

No siren. No cosmic fine. Just you, alone, holding the bill.

It really does feel unfair in a stupid, childlike way. Not metaphorically unfair. Playground unfair. The kind where someone hit you and the teacher did not see and now you are the one trying not to cry because if you do, you will get in trouble for “making a scene.”

The adult version is quieter. You sit at your job or in your kitchen or on the bus, functional, presentable, and inside there is a small kid stamping their foot, wanting to scream, “They got away with it.” You swallow it. You smile. You forward the document. You wash the dishes.

What makes it worse is how healing itself can feel like punishment. While you are working through the trauma, you have to walk back through it. Talk about it. Sit with it. Dissect it. You wake it up on purpose. You pull it into daylight because that is how it stops owning you. But it means that for a long time, you are living closer to the pain than they are.

They get distance for free. You have to earn it layer by layer.

And this is the part nobody wants to say out loud: sometimes you want them to hurt. Not in some abstract karma way. In a specific, petty way. You want their chest to clamp the way yours does when a certain song comes on. You want them to wake up with their heart racing at 04:11 and not know why. You want them to see their own reflection and feel the same nausea they put in your body.

You do not even necessarily want them destroyed. You just want the scales to balance for a second. You want your suffering to show up somewhere other than your own bones.

That urge scares you. You think it makes you ugly. It does not. It makes you human. When someone sets your insides on fire and walks away whistling, of course some part of you wants the flames to catch their clothes too.

There is a cruel trick in all of this: while you are healing, you are becoming deeper. You are forced to learn things about yourself, about safety, about boundaries, about attachment, about what your body does under pressure. You become someone who understands panic from the inside out. Someone who knows what it costs to relearn trust. Someone who, eventually, might actually be kind in a way that is not fake or performative, because you remember exactly what it felt like when nobody was.

They get to stay shallow if they want.

They can skate over their own history and call it “the past.” They can keep playing the same patterns with new people. Maybe one day it will crack. Maybe they will finally have to look at themselves properly. Maybe not. You might never see that day. That is its own mourning.

So you sit with the unfairness. You live in it. You wake up, hurt, and still go to therapy or journaling or whatever stupid tools you picked up because life did not leave you a choice. You relearn the basics: this is how to be touched. This is how to be alone without dissociating. This is how to be with people without swallowing yourself whole.

the world keeps spinning like nothing happened.

There is no neat moral here. No “one day it will all make sense.” Some things will never make sense. Some people will always have the luxury of walking away from wreckage they caused, and the universe will not drop a piano on their heads just because you are crying on the floor.

But there is one quiet, uncomfortable truth you might feel in tiny flashes when you are not drowning:

While they moved on cheaply, you had to rebuild expensively. Every piece you lay down in yourself now has weight. The way you notice red flags. The way you protect your own softness. The way you show up for people without erasing yourself. None of that came for free.

They got to progress casually.

You are learning how to be human on purpose.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

It's not a good thing, you see.
It's bad.
My me is fading away.
Who I am, what I stand for and who I want to be, are becoming a mere shadow of my true existence.

[𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒷𝓎𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓇 @__Dairo__]

Muddy water is best cleared when left alone, sometimes the best thing to do is doing nothing at all.