#from a book i'll never write

[timeandneverendingtrails]

One last goodbye…/// Final Unsent Letter This letter has sat in my drafts folder, untouched, for years. It’s lingered in my email box, haunting me like a ghost I couldn’t bring myself to face. For the longest time, I wasn’t ready to let it go—not ready to admit what it meant or why it hurt so much. But now, as I compile works for my book, I realize it deserves to see the light. I know you’ll never read it, and maybe that’s for the best. Still, I can’t deny that you had a hand in shaping some of my most reflective, raw, and emotionally charged pieces. You stirred something in me that I couldn’t ignore, even when I tried. It feels right, almost poetic, to share it here on the blog where my writing journey truly began. Your impact on my life—whether painful, transformative, or bittersweet—wove its way into my words. And though I’ve moved forward, this letter remains a testament to the depth of what I felt and the lessons I’ve carried. It would be a shame not to give it the home it deserves. So here it is, finally out in the open. A piece of the past, released to the present, so I can move fully into the future.

I don’t even know where to start. From the moment you finally said that you were done with whatever we were. I have been trying to put these feelings into words, and no matter how many times I rewrite this, it never feels like enough. For months, I’ve told myself this would be the perfect goodbye letter—a chance to find closure and move on—but the truth is, you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve my carefully chosen words, my vulnerability, or the peace that comes from me wrapping this up in a neat little bow. You put me through hell. You dragged me down into a darkness I didn’t know existed, left me there to claw my way out, and then walked away as if none of it mattered. And now? Now you expect me to let go without questions, without resentment, without carrying the weight of everything you did to me? That’s not going to happen.

I knew you for what felt like forever, though in reality, you were just a fleeting chapter in the story of my life. You were a boy when I met you, brimming with charm and unfulfilled potential, and I stayed long enough to watch you become a man—or at least, what I thought was a man. And in that time, I fell. I fell not just in love, but into belief, into hope, into every whispered promise you made under a sky full of stars. You didn’t just capture my heart; you held my soul in your hands. I opened myself to you completely, like a book with no secrets, no locked pages. I let you read every chapter—my fears, my dreams, the parts of me I never let anyone see. And when you told me you loved me, I believed you with everything I had. How could I not? Your words felt like home, and at the time, that was all I ever wanted.

Maybe that’s why I held on so long. For a time, you were my salvation. You were there in the darkest moments of my life, when the ground beneath me was crumbling and I didn’t know how to stand on my own. For that, I thank you. Without you, I might not have survived. Without you, I wouldn’t have had the courage to leave the hands that bruised my skin, shattered my spirit, and left me believing I was worthless. Without you, I might never have discovered the fire buried deep inside me—the one that ached to burn through every chain that held me captive.

For a while, you were my lifeline. You were the good in a world that had shown me so much pain. Almost savior-like, I gave you power—so much power—to hold me together. I trusted you with it, clung to it like a drowning person clings to a lifeboat. But you didn’t save me. Instead, you took that power and used it against me. Slowly, piece by piece, you dismantled what was left of me.

The pain you caused wasn’t physical—it was worse. You didn’t leave bruises on my skin; you left them on my soul. You reached inside me and gripped my heart with the same hands I once thought were kind. And every time I managed to gather the broken pieces of myself, you’d squeeze, hard enough to shatter me all over again. It felt like dying, over and over, but never being granted the mercy of release.

Looking back, I realize you knew exactly what you were doing. You were great at it—great at making me feel extraordinary just by being near you. Great at making me hang on to every word you said, whether it was sharp and cruel or soft and sweet. You knew how to keep me tethered to you, how to make me believe I didn’t deserve better. And, God help me, I let you. I forgave you every time, because I didn’t know how to do anything else.

But the worst part? You could have been honest with me. When you came back into my life, you could have told me you didn’t want something real. You could have told me you only wanted a friend with benefits. I might have been able to handle that. But no. You told me you loved me. You let me fall for you—piece by piece, word by word—until I was too far gone to see the lies for what they were.

You told me you loved me. And in the same breath, you told her it wasn’t serious.

Do you have any idea what that did to me? Do you understand what it feels like to have every word I held onto—every promise, every dream—reduced to nothing? It broke me in ways I didn’t know were possible. It made me question everything about myself, about love, about trust. It made me feel like I was nothing.

But here’s the thing: I’m not nothing. I’ve found my way out of the wreckage you left behind. I’ve rebuilt my life without you, and though the memories still sting, I’ve realized something you’ll never take from me: I deserve more. I deserve honesty, respect, and love that doesn’t come wrapped in lies and betrayal.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? You held me captive, but it was your absence that finally set me free. Now, with the scars you left behind, I carry the lesson I never wanted but desperately needed. My fire was never yours to extinguish. It was mine all along.

So no, this isn’t the perfect goodbye letter. It’s not tied up neatly with forgiveness or closure. It’s messy, raw, and filled with the truth you were never brave enough to give me. This letter isn’t for you—it’s for me.

Because while I may carry the ghost of what we could have been, I refuse to carry the chains of what you did to me. I’m free now. And that is something you can never take away from me…////Cas/// 2015-2016

To my 1,000+ followers—thank you.

Your unwavering support over the years has meant more to me than words can express. You’ve followed my journey, messaged me with kindness, and shared in the rawest parts of my story. You’ve been there as I poured my heart into these posts, turning pain into something meaningful and reflective.

Now, I can finally say I’ve found closure. The chapters that once haunted me are no longer where I live—they’re lessons I carry, not burdens I hold. And knowing you’ve been here, reading, relating, and encouraging me, has made that journey all the more profound.

This space has been more than a blog; it’s been a refuge, a connection, and a place to heal. Thank you for being part of that, for letting me share my truth, and for reminding me that even in vulnerability, there’s strength.

Here’s to moving forward, together.

[meetmeinbrooklyn]

It hurts to think about you. Because my head screams “run” but my heart whispers “home”.

[empty-meanings]

some days you will feel completely and utterly alone, annoying, and unlovable. as if the entire universe is conspiring against you.

then some days your friend will gift you a souvenir from their trip to argentina, and it’ll smell like oranges. the weather that week will be beautiful. and the world won’t feel nearly as heavy.

— i promise you, you are never unlovable.

[averageheartbrokenplayboy2]

Often times I find my self searching for the right thing to say that’ll make everything okay.

But I think those words ran and hid, just like I did when I was a kid. Deprived of love and comfort while surrounded by pain and aggression. I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like without this cloudy perception.

a.e

[ursxc11]

The End Looks Different Without You

The way you left,

Showed me I didn't mean anything to you at all.

I don’t have to wonder why you didn't look back, 

and I’ll probably never get to say this to you...

 “ I did try my best  “ 

- ursxc11

[showmylovefor-you]

my mother is great and strong i wish she would understand that i could never be like her i can never be a woman this coming from a boy who was trapped in a girl's body once for 9 months from a boy who will only live once

it's been 10 hours since 14:30 that means it's been 10 hours since the end of the world so i write this to you from the end of the world from the end of the world to the beginning of everything i send Love, Peace and Prosperity It isn't bad here it only is. there's nothing to do. so i have decided to spend my eternity producing sentences that can reach the people at the beginning of everything but what is a sentence but a prison so it is safe to say i have decided to spend my eternity trying to imprison you you can see it written everywhere in our grammar nouns become verbs and verbs become nouns in a never ending cycle of life and death which some would like to call grammar "To be is to do and to become is to have done" but that can only be measured by people like you and i. the first time the sun rises you will turn 5 that means for the first time you will realise that the sun and your shadow follows you around and one day you will ask around. "Why do i have a shadow? and Why do i have a sun?" but you will soon realise that such questions are not allowed at the end of the world the production of perfect sentences is simply frowned upon no one here would like to break free so you will come to me…… but as you come you have to remember that i am just a word. that man himself is just a word. subject to grammatical error trapped in a sentence trying to break free. but still living in a country still a mere citizen. and what is a country but a paragraph. to be unique is to die a tragedy and to live as a mistake to be different is to subtract yourself from a paragraph (paragraph - yourself) = different and to become is to move towards death to live is to move towards death (death being the essence of life) therefore to live is to be different you have to realise that it was hard to love your brother but before it ended i finally did the light coming off his skin was not reflected in the country you love it was only when he opened his eyes to look at his skin that he realised that he was not a citizen he couldn't tell anyone he loved himself too much to be slaughtered by the hands of citizens and what is to love but to hold a sentence together only those who can produces sentences freely can hold sentences together at the end of the world no one produces their own sentences let alone write them down here it's only copy and paste handwrittings reduced to mere fonts "times new roman" a sentence that i hold together is that the best thing to do with empty hands? i wonder as different moons pass me by our mother said to me once: "The only thing one can do with empty hands is to hold on" but this is the end of the world….. hold on to what? the streets are painted with the blood of infantile suicides. but your brother found a sentence once, "A father is nothing but a dying son" and "A mother is nothing but a girl who succeeded" and he held those two sentences together the way a skeleton holds a skin the way a skin holds a soul the way a soul holds a word and a son or a boy? and a girl or a daughter? those are just words not ideas don't worry about them not all sentences managed to trap ideas some sentences failed like , "Love your neighbour as you love yourself" or "i promise to speak the truth" or "i will love you forever" or "it get's better with time" they thought they could hold time in a sentence so as you walk carry a life sentence in your right hand as a testament to your existence and a knife in your left symbolising the sentences you are yet to write a boy is a gun, a girl is a bullet, a country is a paragraph and TO LIVE is to witness a WORD wither away

on the days you will feel as though you have no influence realise that it will pass… let it pass… let it pass through you only you will remain afterwards

[lilliesand-valleys]

[leavemeslowly]

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“I believed you even when I knew you were lying.”

- S. C. C.

[letterstokami]

[timeandneverendingtrails]

I knew him for what felt like forever. Sadly I was the one who fell in love with a boy- as he became a man. I had opened myself up to him, let him in, believed him when he said he loved me. I then watched him disappear. We haven't spoken in years, but I’ll always have the hope that maybe one day we’ll talk again. I hope that, maybe we happened in another world. I felt that we could’ve had a love that set the world on fire. Oh what a shame that would be if it was lost.

//C.A.T. // lost journal entries from 2015

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[ninasdrafts]

(shortened)

[ursxc11]

The Wall I Couldn't See

There’s a wall of pictures and words.

It’s all scrambled

Can’t quite make it out.

I’m scared to get closer.

Sometimes someone reads them out loud,

Sometimes they describe whats in the pictures, 

I’ll never be able to see them.

No matter how close I stand,

How many tools I use,

I’ll always have that wall in front of me.

Sometimes I close my eyes too try and rest,

The ideas of how they look run fast through my dreams. 

Sometimes I look away,

Then someone turns my head back trying to show me the wall saying “look do you see?.”

Sometimes I wanna scream for someone to take me away so I never have to wonder about the pictures again.

So I can create my own wall of pictures. 

Sometimes I want to smash the glass,

Rip down the words but someone always tells me I can't.

Someone tells me they're important. 

They leave me with the wall, 

Alone.

I’m left with a wall of pictures and words put up by others.

Everyone seems to be able to see them,

I hear all the descriptions all the narrations of the words.

Who do you believe? 

When you cant see it for yourself.

Who will tell you what's real when they know you can’t see it. 

No one can make a wall move.

No one can rip the pictures down.

No one can erase the words.

So what do you do?

Breathe,

Take another deep breathe

Put up your own words

Write them bigger brighter

Than anyone else

Hang the pictures you want to see everyday and focus them into view

Stop.

Look at it now,

Tell the pictures and words 

That you can’t see or hear 

SCREAM

You aren’t mine to see

You aren’t mine to hear

You aren’t me

I’am me

I chose what I hear

I chose what I see.

- ursxc11

[prosebyday]

This time of year is like a hall of mirrors, a haunting time of reflection.  I can’t look away from my past, everywhere I turn it stares me in the face, reminding me of where I was last year, 2 years ago, 3, 4, 5 – all the possible futures I envisioned and watched crumble. Oh, how things change. I am unrecognizable. 

Hall of Mirrors // Grazia Curcuru

[lilliesand-valleys]