The B Side

It is a strange pleasure to feel that someone can reach for me without ever being reachable. All doors are shut, yet the page remains open, a hollow echo, a shadow of absence. Sad, isn’t it? Let courage rise, let honesty speak without disguise. Would you? Would you dare admit the longing that cannot be described, the ache that hides behind walls of silence? If words are all we have, let them be a lifeline. Stop the quiet that cuts deep. A voice can save what fear is suffocating. Not answers, not promises, just sound breaking the dark. If this is a call for help, let it be answered with urgency. The sound of your voice can save my life.

A new year, a diagnosis, and whole chapters to be written. I think I am ok.

It's Sunday, the sun is out, and the air is cold. Winter is definitely here. I walk along the canal, my phone playing Billie Eilish. I'm taking myself for a coffee. Large latte with an extra shot, please. While I wait, I watch the wind scatter the last leaves on an already naked tree. People pass, wrapped in their own thoughts, and I wonder where they might be heading. Does it matter? Well, maybe it does, for a busy mind like mine. I smile gently at some child and make my way back home. Back inside, the door clicks shut, and the quiet settles. The cup warms my hands, the song fades, and the day feels smaller in a good way. Nothing has changed, yet something has eased. I place the coffee on the counter, breathe once, and let the afternoon arrive carrying two new chapters for the book I’m writing. And for the first time in a long while, I let myself be whole again.

I noticed something simple and yet profound. I am okay. Truly okay. Life has found a quiet point inside me that I did not even know I was searching for. And it is strange how this calm did not come from distance, it came from understanding. It is as if I can finally feel everything with more clarity without losing myself. So I write. Therapy has been guiding me back to who I am, my fears, my patterns, the ways I tried to protect myself, and the ways I hurt myself without meaning to. I'm learning to heal, piece by piece, and to accept that growth does not erase love; it makes it more honest. Every session teaches me to feel without running away, to listen to my heart without fear and to hold it gently. So I write. And writing I think of you with a soft affection. Nothing heavy. Nothing demanding. Just a quiet tenderness that sits beside me even when you stay silent. I like knowing you exist in the world. That alone is enough. If one day you choose to come back here, the door is o...

I wish I could say this while looking into your eyes, yet I’m not sure I’d make it past the first sentence without wanting to kiss you. So I write. I miss you. I miss you in a way I’ve never missed anyone before. The space you left aches in my body, and the distance between us makes me feel like I’m breaking. And because I can’t reach you, I write. I write to tell you that I forgive you. I understand now the corner you were pushed into; none of it was simple. I forgive myself too for stumbling through it all. And that last word you threw at me barely scratched the surface; I was already bleeding long before it landed. So I write. I write because I twisted my own feelings out of fear. I was terrified of falling in love again. We were both wrong with the truth, and I wish we’d had the time to make it right without the guilt we carried on our backs. So I write. I write because I’m tired of rereading our messages and tired of trying to sleep without replaying every kiss I ever gave you...