Inklingpen

Sometimes I think of abandoning this channel and leaving the telegram but I realise, there are people I have never touched by name tell me that my lines sit beside their silence, that my storms resemble theirs, and suddenly this space feels less like a screen and more like a shared room where our hearts leave their coats at the door. I'll stay and write for you who reads quietly at night, for you who finds a reflection hidden between metaphors, for you whose kindness keeps my pen breathing. thank you for choosing to sit with my words, for letting them belong somewhere.

I don’t have the normal capacity to feel things. It wallows me in like the bottom of the ocean waiting for you to step in. It’s not a part of me, it is a whole of me. As in my whole personality thrives on emotions and empathy. And if anger holds place, it comes in the form of elaboration with the salty streaks across my face, the undefeated urge to want to be understood more than to ever be “right” For why would I look in a place to be the Queen when I have only wanted a hand on my head? I can’t wait for grief, for I feel it miles before it touches the surface of my skin right before dissolving and making me in a wither flower that has lost its charm. The sparkle, the laughter, the smile vanishes like it never existed. Grief touches me in all the places screaming in different forms of agony. All I wanted is to be loved and they often wonder, their words in the mutter of the winds,”Has Darkpit only ever wanted love that consumes her?” But how beautiful is to think of one perception of love when it’s in the form of all relationships of your life. How deep does one have to dig to really understand the actual paradox of one’s life? ~©Darkpit

I thought all this time I was ready to meet the ghosts of the haunted house but instead met the 12 year old version of me on the floor shattered, bawling and questioning if life ever gets any better. Lil does she know her life is nothing but a constant maze of runups but never a finish line with a winner. Yet. ~©Darkpit

I have decided for myself that it doesn't matter why they're emotionally unavailable. What matters is that my need for emotional connection and closeness are not being met. It's not my place to figure out how they came to be that way. All that matters is that I take care of myself. And the self loving thing to do is not be in relationship with someone who is emotionally unavailable. It is never your responsibility to be the reason someone heals, or to carry the weight of becoming what they could not be for themselves. You may try, you may care, you may show up but the rest must remain in their hands. Because the burden that feels like a blessing in the beginning often becomes the very thing that dims your light. You need to understand that you can love someone by all your heart and still have the wisdom to let things go which was never your fault to begin with. ~©Darkpit

Perhaps for finding you, I had to dig and carve myself in a way I was hardly recognizable. But you were a maze I wanted to find the exit to, only to realize every turn, every corner kept leading me back to you. And maybe somewhere in all of this I never really wanted to escape but rather form the walls that felt like home. #you ~©Darkpit

Well.

The fact that I still revisit the sticker books stacked somewhere in the quiet corner of my room speaks volumes for how that “special” occasion never really comes. And in a blink of an eye we are 18. ~©Darkpit #random

I remember your scent like it was yesterday, though six months and twenty days now hang between us silent, heavy, and unnamed. It feels like a blink, yet somehow a lifetime bled through its edges. I think of you, not with resistance, not with clinging but with surrender. I offer the thought of you back to the sky, to the same sky that once aligned our stars so recklessly, so perfectly for a moment. If the Author who once wrote us in constellations now pens a different ending, how could I question it? He writes all things with purpose even this ache, even this quiet forgetting that still remembers everything. #you ~©Darkpit

Grief creeps in from the most unexpected places. A scent on an old sweater. A song playing too softly in the background. The way the sun sets just a little differently than it used to. Do they realize how much they are missed? How their absence carves through flesh like a phantom limb that never stops aching? What if I forget? The way their eyes squinted when they smiled, like the world had never been cruel to them. The laughter that poured into me like warm honey, settling in places I didn’t know were hollow. The little quirks—favorite songs I never cared for but learned to love, the way they held their cup, the exact way they said my name. What if time steals it all from me, one detail at a time, until they are nothing but a whisper on my skin? Some days, the absence is quiet, a soft hum in the background of my life. Other days, it’s a thunderclap in an empty room—deafening, suffocating. Like all the oxygen in this world has been sucked away, and I am left gasping, clawing at the remnants they left behind, hoping to gather enough to breathe again. I have only ever known one way to heal—to be pulled back into the warmth of their body, buried under their heat, shielded from the cold edges of reality. But reality doesn’t bargain. Do we ever truly understand what we lose along the way? We tell ourselves, “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” a mantra of comfort wrapped in delusion—until we find ourselves sifting through coal, hands blackened, lungs heavy, realizing we once held a diamond and let it slip through our fingers. Endings don’t come with warning signs. They don’t wait for us to be ready. They come like a thief in the night, unraveling everything we built, leaving us scrambling to loosen the noose of memories around our throats—only for it to tighten, until our hands are too weak to fight it. Grief is love that has nowhere to go. And I am drowning in it. ~©Darkpit

I do wish things had been different— every time my fingers graze the leather jacket passed down, the scent of worn leather and faint cologne clings, stronger than your presence. More alive, more stern than the faint shadow your absence painted in my memory. It stops me in my tracks, searching for you in every passerby, as if the lingering fragrance could lead me back to you. The smile that once strung my life in tune now makes flowers bloom from yours. I wish the ending had been different this time. Perhaps if the meeting had never taken place, there would be no untouched coffee mugs, no words left unsaid. Maybe then—just maybe— I would have still had you. ~©Darkpit

The more I decided to stay silent the more I betrayed myself with every word I gulped down even if it had to burn my throat. For my despair was far greater than the ruins of the ashes I couldn't save. #agony ~©Darkpit

The whole new personality I can build, but I feel the eyes of who I used to be. Burying her makes my hands go weak, and I can’t burn her alive either. She clings to me, like a ghost I can’t shake off, whispering everything I want to forget. So I carry her around with me, dragging her weight in every step, until she has nowhere to fly, and sinks deep within, settling in the cracks of who I’m trying to become. #pain ~©Darkpit

In a blink of an eye, everything feels like broken mists of dreams scattered all around me. The hopes I collected, the arms I found my peace in— everything is now a forbidden territory. When the darkness engulfs me in the dawn, I hear the echoes of who I could be every night. To conquer heights, to stumble down from a single stone, my capacity has never shrunk this much. Nothing is ever new, yet the pain is so similar that the numbness it gifts me feels like a gift. I am terrified of thinking about something only to see its blood dripping beneath my fingers, down my sleeve. I could be a whole lot of personalities in front of the world and absolutely zero in the mirror. My murders are the assassination of my own characters, holding the knife beneath the dim light of the moon. And yet, here I stand, among the ruins of myself, a witness to the chaos I create. The night whispers truths I refuse to hear— I am my own undoing, and I am my only salvation. #tothink ~©Darkpit

#safe

#you