sighhsighhsighh

[sighhsighhsighh]

"Cigarette in Rain"

Morning walks feel more like drifting, the world a blurred echo of a life I never asked for. Each step to school is less a journey, more a surrender.

Thoughts hang like stormclouds in my throat — the ones that whisper about ending things before they ever begin.

Then I see it — a cigarette in a pool of rainwater, still whole, unlit, untouched, yet already drowned.

It doesn’t move. Just lies there, perfect in its defeat, clean in a way that feels impossible — like something once meant for fire now softened by the weight of everything it didn’t become.

And somehow, I see myself in it. Not smoking, not burnt out, just there — soaked in silence, floating in a world too heavy to carry.

No wind. No ripple. Just me and that cigarette, both waiting for something to change.

@ghostinkpoetry

[sighhsighhsighh]

"In Love With the Idea"

I thought it was love. Because it looked like the movies, felt like the poems, sounded like soft promises whispered in the dark.

But it wasn’t you I loved— it was the story I told myself about you.

You were silence wrapped in skin, a presence without presence. Red flags waved, not in warning, but like banners at a parade I wanted so badly to join.

I carved a safe space between my ribs, made a home of my vulnerability, but you never stepped in. You stood at the threshold, muttering reasons why you couldn’t, while I mistook your distance for depth.

You said you couldn’t talk. I listened harder. You said nothing. I built meaning from the quiet.

God—how foolish I was. Not for loving, but for falling for the idea of love— as if that would be enough to turn absence into affection.

You didn’t break me. I broke myself trying to make your silence sound like something sweet.

And now, I pick through the wreckage, not of you, but of me— of the girl who thought love was supposed to hurt, as long as it felt like something.

@ghostinkpoetry

[sighhsighhsighh]

Five steps back

I dreamt of you last night. I hate when that happens. because it’s never the real version of us It’s the version where we held on tighter, loved louder, stayed longer.

and just like that, i’m five steps back. I thought I was healing, thought I was doing okay, But grief doesn’t move in straight lines, does it? It comes in waves. Some days, i can breathe. Other days, i’m drowning.

I miss you. God, I miss the way we were. the stupid jokes, the small smiles, the quiet comfort of being known. And the life, the life we almost had. The one that never made it past the dream.

It felt right in my sleep. But dreams lie. They stitch together the best parts. The maybes, the almosts, and leave out the reasons we fell apart.

I hate reminding myself of the ending. Hate dragging our story down with facts like “we weren’t what each other needed in the end.” or “love wasn’t enough.” because we were good. For a long time, You were the breath of air I didn’t know I needed. until you weren’t. And I wish I didn’t have to say that out loud.

We were in your room in my dream. laughing. close. safe. But it wasn’t real.

And now I think of your new room, The memories we could’ve made, all the soft nights and quiet mornings That never happened.

It hurts. because all that’s left is the could have been.

I was moving forward. slowly, step by step.

But now it feels like I looked over my shoulder and my heart followed. Like something in me needed to rewind to feel it all again: the softness, the sting, the silence that came after.

and every time my mind drags me there, i lose pieces of myself all over again.

I dreamt of you. We were happy. And I hate that because we were.

[sighhsighhsighh]

In Pieces

People don’t always leave like doors slamming

sometimes, they leave like echoes

lingering in your favorite mug,

or the way the hallway feels emptier

even when you’ve turned off the lights.

They leave behind playlists you can’t delete,

and sweaters that still remember

the shape of their shoulders.

They leave in songs you skip too fast,

and coffee shops you walk past

without knowing why your chest tightens.

They leave without shouting.

They just... fade from photos first,

then from memories,

and one day,

you wake up and forget the sound of their laugh

and you wonder if they were ever real.

But the worst kind of leaving

is when they’re still around,

just not yours anymore.

And you start leaving too

not all at once,

but in pieces.

– by Nyra

[sighhsighhsighh]

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I dont know the rest,

But I like you.

- SW

[sighhsighhsighh]

A Placeholder for Love

I don’t think I’ve ever been loved deeply. Not in the way people write poems about. Not in the way that makes you feel permanent in someone’s story. The kind that alters you. That carves out a home in your chest. Sex? It’s always felt like a shadow of something I never fully had. Like, I was just imitating closeness. Just enough to pretend.

There’s this boy. And when he talks about her, his past relationship, I go quiet. I disappear a little. Because they shared something real. A history. A rhythm. A love that had time to stretch its legs and plant roots. They had a life. And I... I feel like an intermission. Like I’m something to help pass the time between what was and what might be.

And maybe that’s not his fault. But I can’t help but feel small when I look at it. When I look at them. Because he loved her. He still loves her. And I don’t think there’s any room in that kind of love for someone like me.

And I’m terrified I’m just a pause in his story. A placeholder while reality sorts itself out. Something soft to fall into, but not something to stay with

So I try to pull away. Quietly. Just enough to protect the soft parts of me that are starting to believe in the impossible. Because I know what this is. He’s not ready. And maybe I’m not either. But I’m closer. I’ve stitched some parts of me back together. The pain I’ve known was quieter. Less destructive. And that says something, doesn’t it?

That maybe I’ve never actually been broken open by love. Never truly seen. Never held in that forever way. I don’t have keepsakes. No memories that ache. No moment where I can say, “That was love, and I was in it.”

We barely had anything. Whatever it was, it flickered, then went dim. And it wasn’t enough to burn into memory. And that... that hurts in a way I didn’t expect.

Because I want to be loved like that. I want to be remembered. Known. Desired. And I’m scared—scared that I’ll always be the in-between. The temporary comfort. The thing you use to fill the silence before the real thing comes along. And when the silence ends, I’ll be quietly erased.I don’t want to be a placeholder. I want to be the thing you wait for. The thing you don’t replace. But I’m scared. Scared, I never will be. Scared that when the real thing arrives, I’ll just quietly fade into a memory no one bothers to revisit.

[sighhsighhsighh]

they asked,

“who would you call when you had good news to share?”

my mind didn’t even hesitate.

it went to you. like it always does.

by habit. by instinct. by nature.

you’ve always been the first person.

my best friend.

but that’s all we were, wasn’t it?

we lacked everything else.

i spent a day with a boy.

it was good. sweet, even.

it felt normal.

but still, my mind drifted.

away from him.

towards something that never quite existed.

i haven’t met the boy for me yet.

just fragments.

pieces i wish i could gather into one person.

but he doesn’t exist.

and that’s okay.

still…

my heart breaks for what we could’ve been.

if it had just worked.

if we hadn’t been so us.

i carry too many what ifs

and i hate that.

i always wanted a love story.

the kind where you meet young.

fall too hard.

and choose each other every single day.

i wanted that.

i would’ve had that.

i wanted the big white dress.

the awkward speeches.

the ugly crying.

the gentle kind of love that holds on, even when it’s tired.

i wanted love.

to be loved.

to have felt it fully.

to be wanted.

wanted in the forever kind of way.

where someone wakes up every day and still chooses you.

i wanted that.

i wanted us.

i wanted the happy ending.

the little girl version of me,

the one who still believed in magic,

she just wanted to feel that kind of love.

reckless. soft. safe.

the kind that makes you forget the world ever hurt you.

i want to feel that

at least once in this life.

i hope i do.

[sighhsighhsighh]

We were together, and we did love—just not in the way that sinks into your bones. Not in the way that makes the world feel smaller when the other is gone. Our love was quiet, steady, a kind of warmth that never burned too hot or too cold. We cared. We stayed. And for a long time, that was enough.

But love like that doesn’t leave echoes. It doesn’t carve itself into the soul or linger in the air after it’s gone. It just fades, like the last light of day, slipping away so gently you barely notice until the night has settled in. I think that’s why letting go wasn’t shattering, just a quiet understanding. There was no fire, no destruction—just the slow realization that we had been standing side by side, but never quite reaching for each other.

And I think that’s what I envy most. The ones who hurt. The ones who grieve. The ones who burn. Because at least they had something worth losing. At least they can point to the ache and say, this is where love lived. I can’t. I can only say we were here, for a while, and now we’re not. And maybe that’s the saddest kind of loss—the kind that barely feels like anything at all.

[sighhsighhsighh]

sigh

i’m jealous. of the love she had. of the way he still speaks about her like she’s woven into the fabric of his soul. jealous of love that lingers, love that stays even after time stretches thin, even after it’s been taken for granted.

i deleted our pictures today. didn’t make a moment of it. didn’t make it mean anything. just… did it. it was sad, i am sad, but i’m not shattered. we never burned. never had that kind of love—the kind that consumes, that leaves ashes and echoes.

maybe i’ll never know what it’s like. maybe this is what i get. but god, it must be something to be loved like that.

[sighhsighhsighh]

I think about that moment a lot.

That night in your room, when it just wasn’t working. And I remember feeling—shattered. Or maybe just fed up. I couldn’t even look at you, so I excused myself to the bathroom. Sat on the toilet seat. Cried.

I know you knew I was upset. Because when I came back out, you apologized. And in that moment, I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know why, but I think about that day often. And every time, it breaks me.

You said you’d get it fixed. You never did.

I don’t even remember if it was before or after January. But I know I needed to feel something. To feel wanted. And maybe that was selfish, but I deserved that. I deserved to feel like the only girl someone wanted.

It was never about other girls. It was just me, chasing that feeling in every heart. And every single time I find it with someone else, there’s this moment. Where I lay next to them, safe, secure in everything they’ve been through. And then—I think of you. And I hate you.

Hate that you put me in that place after you left me.

I didn’t realize how much that night damaged me. How awful it made me feel. It fucked how I felt about you. But worse—it made me feel like shit.

You were supposed to be my person. And yet, I never felt it. I don’t even remember it. I don’t remember what it felt like. I don’t remember wanting you.

And I hate you for it.

It broke me.

And I filled. I tried to fill that brokenness with everyone who loved the cracks. And it took parts of my soul I can never get back. It stole moments that should’ve been ours. It stole memories. It stole—everything.

And you were okay with it. You let it happen.

And I hate you for it

But I can never tell you that.

And that makes me so angry. So angry.

[sighhsighhsighh]

I WANTED TO FEEL WANTED.

Like any other fucking girl would.

I wanted to be yearned where someone looks at me and sees this goddess that they can't get enough of.

I WANTED TO BE SEEN.

I wanted to be feel more than I was feeling.

I was drowning.

And you were never there.

And I'm so angry with you.

I hate you. I hate you.

My heart is broken.

I just wanted to be wanted.

It wasn't that hard.

I'm not that hard.

[sighhsighhsighh]

I should be happy.

You are everything a person is supposed to want—kind, steady, patient.

You make me feel safe, like I could rest in you,

like nothing in the world could shake us.

But love is supposed to shake you, isn’t it?

It’s supposed to feel like gravity doesn’t work the same way anymore,

like the air is thinner when they’re not around.

I don’t feel that with you. I never have.

And I tell myself that maybe love doesn’t have to be a wildfire,

that maybe a steady flame is enough.

But then I see it—

the way others love like they’re coming undone,

the way their eyes burn when they look at each other.

And I wonder why I don’t look at you that way.

I want to.

God, I want to.

But love isn’t something you force into shape,

and no matter how tightly I hold it,

ours never quite fits.

And the cruelest part?

You deserve that kind of love.

And I deserve to feel it.

But I don’t know if we ever will.

[sighhsighhsighh]

He kissed my cheek. And I looked at him. The look I always give when I want him to kiss me. And he was like no ju. And I said please.

So he held my face and gave me a long peck and then said bye.

I missed his hugs.

I miss him.

17 March 2025.

#dsj

[sighhsighhsighh]

It confuses me how things are.

I met a boy I've not yet written about which is something out of character of me if you take the last year of my life where I wrote about every single one.

I've not even mentioned him. Not once. In any entry.

And I don't feel I'm going to for a while.

What does that say?

Could it mean something? Does it?

Is it strange that I miss you now?

That when life is actually going fine and I'm morally okay and making better decisions I think of you now?

How we would have been? What we could be?

It makes me angry everytime I think of you now.

I'm angry that I wasn't enough for you to try.

I'm angry that I made alot of wrong decisions based on how I felt in the moment.

I'm angry that we couldn't work it out or we were willing to.

I'm angry that we could have been married in the next 12 months.

I'm angry that what we had doesn't seem to hold as much gravity as I thought it did.

5 years. But I don't hang on to it. I feel I've forgotten alot of it.

What's sad is I know you have to.

I always wanted a love story that was written in the stars as cringe as it sounds.

One that people like to know about and smile.

Where someone looks at you and I and can say how much we love each other.

Baby I've lived a 1000 lives you have no clue about.

How can we go back to each other when you don't even know who I am.

What I've done.

How can I ever tell you.

I met a guy. A good guy. A guy I could fall in love with and enjoy my time with. Someone alot like you. Has everything honestly. But I don't know.

I can live without him.

[sighhsighhsighh]

Someone being patient with you on your bad days is one of the softest forms of love

[sighhsighhsighh]

You know it's sucks when sit at your desk in the middle of the night and think of all the encounters you've had with men and wish he was anything like it.

It breaks you. It breaks me. I don't think you ever realised how much it broke me.

Maybe I didn't voice it out enough.

Maybe I did and you couldn't care.

I've lived different lives without you. Ones that you'll probably never know about. Ones that I could never talk to you about.

Why couldn't you just love me the way I needed to be.

Why.

It is that difficult. Am I?

It's what I've been made to believe all my life.

I just wanted you. I wanted a life with you. I dreamt of it. I saw it.

Errrrrr.

I hate you. Cause I can't love you anymore.

So I'm hating you.

[sighhsighhsighh]

You make me angry. That's one emotion I've never had to feel with you but now. Now I feel it every time I think of you or see you or hear your name.

We had everything going for us, we were so great together, there was no one else in my life I wanted to marry.

No one person other than you. I could do life with you. I could do the most mundane things with you and it would be fun. I would enjoy having you with me.

Yet, that thrill of being in my 20s never came with you, it was everything but you. We didn't have a sex life. I don't remember honestly anymore what it was like. All I know was I cried a few times and I would feel like shit cause we could never finish or it was never heated or passionate. I remember going to your bathroom once and just sitting on the tiolet and crying cause I felt I was good enough and it was awful. And I remember you wanting to bring it up and I don't know if you did but you said something and I didn't want to talk about it but it never pushed you to go fix it. To deal with it like a man. Like someone who wanted to be with me.

I miss you so much. But as my friend and partner and someone I chat with and do life with. But I don't think of you in the capacity of someone who makes me feel like a woman. Who I crave and want to run my fingernails down your spine cause I honestly don't remember doing it.

I can't remember what sex was like with you. I just know everything else I have had has been more.

It was always vanilla. It felt like a chore. I never felt desired. I never felt wanted. I don't think I've ever sent you nudes. Or video called or anything. It was never something we did.

You always made me feel too sexual for you. I always felt ashamed of it.

It breaks me. In ways I can't explain to people cause it would be like I'm talking down on you. And you were honestly the most perfect boy for me.

It was mainly that. The thing with my brain and how I thought I have people for that. People I know I will always have to talk about it with.

But the main thing.

The thing I couldn't get from anyone but you to remain in a loyal and committed relationship I didn't get, which was desire. Which was intimacy and just and thrill and wildness.

I remember thinking that one day laying next to H of all people that I felt closer to stranger than I had felt with you.

I don't remember sleeping naked with you. I don't remember us being so wildly in love and so messy in how we kiss cause we wanted each other so much.

I wanted you. I did. I wanted you to be everything for me. And it just got harder and harder and you stopped trying. Trying to do things for me. And I know it's cause of me how I was in 2023. I know it affected us my personality how sad I was all the time I was moody and catty and mean always. But it was always cause you never knew what I was going through. You never saw it. And that broke me. My own boyfriend the boy I deeply wanted to marry.

You never saw me.

You never desired me.

The two main things I craved and needed from the man I was with.

Yet everything else was there. EVERY SINGLE THING.

It makes me angry. But now it's too late.

I've experienced so much in life that you think I lived in another world. I'm also different but the same and it's weird.

I would give it up, all the boys, all the sex if I had it with you.

I could comprise on the mindset but not the sex. That's what shifts you from being a friend to a lover.

I want to be able to make love to you.

I want you to want me so much you need to see him everyday.

But that wasn't the case.

We didn't do that.

It was always money or time or too many people in our houses or some excuse.

And it makes me angry.

Cause I know I tried.

I tried soooooo hard.

I knew it ended when we went to matara.

When I cried on that bed because I would have rather been at a rave than with you in a room knowing we would probably not have sex or just do it once and maybe finish maybe not.

And now that I've experienced going to the same place with someone else and having a totally different experience it makes me so angry.

Because that could have been us.

But it wasn't.

You make me angry.

And that's something so new it makes me feel so strange.