notes-to-no-one

[notes-to-no-one]

Still, I Go

I was not ready

to leave the place

where everything had

just begun to feel

like home.

There was silence

where once there was breath

not an ending,

just an absence

that stayed too long.

I don’t want to move forward.

But I know

that standing still

won’t bring it back.

So I take a step.

Not toward anyone

just away

from the ache

of staying too long

in a moment that won’t return.

I carry no expectations,

only the weight

of everything I felt

and the quiet hope

that something soft

might find me again.

Still, I go.

Not to forget.

Not to replace.

But to honour

the part of me

that still believes

in beginnings.

[notes-to-no-one]

The shape of your silence

You didn’t leave

you dissolved.

slowly,

like steam rising from something

that was once warm.

and still,

I hold your name like a thread

between my ribs,

unravelling whenever the night

turns too quiet.

I wonder

did you feel the slip too?

did your chest ache

where mine collapsed

under the weight of almost?

You touched the parts

I don’t hand over easily.

The ones wrapped in caution,

in don’t go unless you mean to stay.

And then you went.

Without wreckage,

without goodbye.

Just absence,

settling into everything.

I don’t beg for you to return.

but some fragile part of me

still imagines

you standing at my door

with a heart full of I shouldn’t have.

But until then

i live with the ghost

of what never learned

how to stay.

[notes-to-no-one]

What stayed when you left

I don’t miss you,

I miss the feeling

of being seen,

as if i were more

than a passing thought.

you left a silence

louder than all your words

not because they were lies,

but because i believed them.

some nights,

I still imagine you knocking,

saying you needed time,

saying you’re sorry,

saying stay, if you’ll still have me.

but truth is,

if you were meant to stay,

you never would have left

like that.

I wanted it to be you.

but more than that,

I wanted it to be real.

[notes-to-no-one]

And Still, I Stayed

I didn’t rise with fire.

There was no triumph,

no rebirth in gold.

Just quiet.

Just breath.

Just the weight finally slipping

off my spine.

I wasn’t rescued.

No one came back.

No message lit the dark.

But still

I stayed.

Not waiting,

just… no longer leaving myself behind.

The silence grew old.

The ache dulled.

And in its place:

space.

Not for them.

Not for more promises.

But for me

the one who remained

after all the doors closed

without a sound.

I don’t need noise to know I’m alive.

This stillness,

this soft returning

to my own skin

it’s enough.

[notes-to-no-one]

Obrigad@, elsa-54, e a toda a gente que contribuiu para os 50 reblogues!

Between Calm and Storm

There’s comfort in the quiet,

a steady flame that doesn’t flicker —

a tether holding close despite the miles,

a trust that feels like home.

Yet, I crave the restless fire,

the electric spark in fleeting words,

the dance of tension and release —

a longing wrapped in uncertainty.

Two connections, both strong,

but worlds apart in rhythm and truth.

One sings in silent presence,

the other in a chorus of unspoken desires.

Distance is more than space,

sometimes it’s the absence of words,

a silence heavy with what’s left unsaid,

actions speaking in whispered echoes.

And yet, floods of words can drown meaning,

promises scattered like leaves in the wind,

so many voices, so little proof,

a storm of noise without the calm.

I stand between the steady and the wild,

yearning for both the anchor and the wave,

wondering if the heart can hold them both —

or if one must always let go.

[notes-to-no-one]

The Quiet End

It didn’t break,

it vanished.

No crash,

no scream,

just absence

folding into absence.

I wasn’t holding too tight

I was just holding.

And now my hands are full

of nothing.

How do you mourn

what wasn’t torn,

only

let go

without telling you it was?

There’s no line drawn,

no goodbye spelled.

Only silence

that grew teeth.

I keep standing

in a room that was ours

until it wasn’t.

I keep breathing

through the weight

of things unsaid.

I don’t need answers.

But I deserved

a final word.

A door that closed,

not just disappeared.

Still

I know how to rise.

I always do.

But I’m tired

of rising

from places

I never asked to fall into.

[notes-to-no-one]

hi

I am still mesmerized by your writing

Awesome mann

Hello!

Oh thank you! It means a lot to me

[notes-to-no-one]

Somewhere Between

I am standing

where I swore

I’d never return—

in the hush between heartbeats,

where the light forgets

to fall.

One foot in the promise,

one foot in the pause,

breath caught

in a room

that keeps shifting.

I taste dreams

half-built,

a sweetness that aches—

not for what was,

but for what

almost became.

Was it love,

or just the echo

of wanting to believe?

I don’t know.

I only know the silence

feels heavier now

that I named it aloud.

I don’t want

to be brave again

for someone else.

I want to be still

for me.

And if I’m meant to break,

let it be

with my own hands.

Let the ending

find me honest,

not waiting.

[notes-to-no-one]

Between Calm and Storm

There’s comfort in the quiet,

a steady flame that doesn’t flicker —

a tether holding close despite the miles,

a trust that feels like home.

Yet, I crave the restless fire,

the electric spark in fleeting words,

the dance of tension and release —

a longing wrapped in uncertainty.

Two connections, both strong,

but worlds apart in rhythm and truth.

One sings in silent presence,

the other in a chorus of unspoken desires.

Distance is more than space,

sometimes it’s the absence of words,

a silence heavy with what’s left unsaid,

actions speaking in whispered echoes.

And yet, floods of words can drown meaning,

promises scattered like leaves in the wind,

so many voices, so little proof,

a storm of noise without the calm.

I stand between the steady and the wild,

yearning for both the anchor and the wave,

wondering if the heart can hold them both —

or if one must always let go.

[notes-to-no-one]

when they leave

there’s a space

that opens inside —

not outside

it’s not about missing sounds,

but missing presence

it’s the body walking

while breaking in pieces

in places that once held touch,

held laughter,

held eyes that said

“stay”

it’s like time

thickens somehow

and everything that once felt light

suddenly weighs more

it’s not about what’s gone,

but what’s left halfway,

what wasn’t taken

and didn’t remain

there’s a name for this feeling —

but I don’t say it,

because saying it

means admitting it already hurts

[notes-to-no-one]

“Still, I Am Here”

for the weight that left, and the place that stayed

I didn’t come looking

for what we lost—

I only wanted to leave a light on

in case you ever looked back.

Not the bed,

not the fire,

just a thread I once held

between memory and peace.

I saw something

you would laugh at—

and in that quiet flicker,

you lived again

for a moment.

So I sent it.

Not to pull you,

not to hold you,

just to say:

you are still part of the map,

even if we no longer walk it.

You answered,

softly—

a voice I remembered

without needing to reach for.

No questions,

no confessions.

Only the warmth

of knowing we didn’t vanish.

Only the quiet

of still being here

differently.

[notes-to-no-one]

The Words I Don’t Say

(but still carry)

There’s a feeling

that lives quietly in me.

Not loud, not demanding —

just constant.

It doesn’t rush,

but it doesn’t leave.

It’s in the way I breathe differently around you.

In how the world softens

when you’re near.

In how your presence

feels like both a pause

and a spark.

I don’t need grand moments.

I don’t need promises.

But I need truth —

the kind that speaks without shouting,

the kind that feels like home

and burns like fire,

at the same time.

And maybe I’m not saying everything.

Not yet.

But every time I look at you,

my silence is full of things

I’m almost ready to say.

If you ever feel it,

don’t be afraid of it.

Because it’s real.

Even quiet love

has a voice.

[notes-to-no-one]

Epilogue

There are stories that never ask to be told —

they grow in silence,

in side-glances,

in stolen moments wrapped in fear and longing.

Ours was never loud.

It never had declarations,

never had labels,

never had time.

But it had weight.

And fire.

And a kind of tenderness that still breathes

in the spaces I once left just for you.

I loved you quietly.

Fiercely.

Without map, without armour.

And maybe that was the most honest way I’ve ever loved anyone.

You came into my life

not to stay forever —

but to remind me of who I was

before I disappeared inside everything I was supposed to be.

You didn’t save me.

You didn’t break me.

You simply stood still

long enough for me to see myself reflected in your eyes —

and like what I saw.

And yes, we tried.

We touched possibility.

We held it in our hands.

But the truth is:

not every love survives

outside the dream that created it.

Some loves are meant to live

in a specific light,

in a specific moment,

before reality dulls their flame.

Letting go of you

was not forgetting.

It was honouring.

You were never mine to keep —

but you will always be

the part of me

that learned how to feel again.

And for that,

I do not say goodbye.

I say:

thank you.

[notes-to-no-one]

Not as lovers. Not as a past we try to erase. But as something quieter. Something whole.

[notes-to-no-one]

Not with bitterness. Not with blame. But with the kind of tenderness that only real love leaves behind.

[notes-to-no-one]

You didn’t take everything. You couldn’t. Some of it was mine to carry.

[notes-to-no-one]

If it was a mistake, it was the most beautiful one I’ve ever made.