Emotions

Pleasure isn’t a story. Pleasure isn’t even an orgasm. It’s a conversation.

Sonder reminds me that the world isn’t built around me. That everyone is carrying their own epic—full of grief and joy and contradictions—and that, most of the time, I’ll only ever get the briefest glimpse. But what a thing to glimpse.

Knowing I’ll never fully know anyone is what makes it feel like such a gift when someone lets me in, even a little. When they tell me the thing they didn’t post about. When they trust me with the part that doesn’t make a good story. When they let me see the mess behind the metaphor.

You have to stitch together wholeness from scraps, from hunger, from rage. You have to turn that yearning into rebellion. Into movement. Into fuel.

honesty is not sharing every emotion that you feel and every thought that crosses your mind.

When you conceal important information about your internal state, you rob the other person of agency

solitude—true presence, is not the death of meaning. It is the birthplace of it.

And the truth is, nothing you’re chasing will hold you. Not the success. Not the admiration. Not even the healing. Because the moment you are finally still, you will hear it—your own precious life, sobbing in the corner, pleading:

I’ve been waiting for you to stop trying to be extraordinary, to stop trying to be ‘them’, all so I can love you as you... See more