The Lavender Lounge

She has a name, but it carries a history she never wanted to own.

Most people see the letters on a page and think they know who she is, but they don’t see the silent battles or the early trauma woven between the lines of her identity.

She carries a name she deeply dislikes.

Writing it fully or hearing it spoken aloud fills her with an instinctual discomfort, sending a chill straight to her core.

It is a name she avoids discussing entirely.

She was full of whys and what-ifs, wondering what her name would sound like if her parents had been the ones to give her a name.

There is something about eclipses that people rarely talk about.

We remember how beautiful they are. We gather to witness them, we stand still beneath the sky, and for a few breathtaking moments we believe the impossible has happened—that two worlds have become one.

But eclipses are beautiful precisely because they cannot last.

If the moon remained before the sun forever, the world would freeze in darkness. Life depends on both of them continuing on the paths they were created to follow. Their brief meeting is not a failure of the universe; it is the

very reason it remains in balance.

Perhaps that was us.

People always think the one who leaves feels less.

Maybe because silence looks cruel from the outside.

Maybe because the person who walks away is easier to blame than the one left behind.

But what nobody saw was how heavily the silence sat on him too.

It started innocently enough.

Just conversations.

He never expected silence to become a story.

To him, it was only supposed to be restraint.

A boundary.

A difficult decision made quietly before emotions grew into something neither of them could return from safely.

There were no promises between them.

No confessions.

This is me—trying to put into words something I don’t fully understand yet. Something too strong, too strange, too sharp, too deep—it arrived quietly, but it left an echo that didn’t fade easily.

I don’t even know why it happened, or how it happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye, something was there—and then it was gone. And I’m left here, sitting with a silence that feels different from anything I’ve known before.

I never really been writing letters or poems for quite a long time… this will be my comeback. And in a strange way, I didn’t even plan it—it just happened. Maybe because of him. He showed me this space, this place where words can exist without needing to be perfect, just real.

I’m not used to this kind of writing anymore, if I ever truly was. But somehow, I find myself trying again—slowly, carefully—like learning…

There was once a boy who loved quietly but fully, the kind of love that shows up in small ways: warm drinks on midnights, short drives with music low, donuts shared between conversations that didn’t need

to be loud to mean something.

He gave her a ring once. Not because it was grand or expensive, but because it reminded him of her — simple, subtle, and full of warmth. It became one of his favorite things — not for what it was, but for who wore it.

For a time, they drifted into something tender. It wasn’t fireworks, but it was soft and safe — a kind of closeness he thought might become home.

But one day, after the sun had risen a little too early and the night had weighed heavier than usual, she messaged him. Her words came slowly, carefully, like she had carried them too long:

Some endings don’t come with slammed doors or harsh words. Sometimes, they arrive quietly — in truth that’s hard to say, and harder to hear.

Today, I let go of someone I cared about deeply. Not because the love wasn’t real, but because it wasn’t mutual — not in the way that makes things last. And that’s okay.

I was loved enough to be told the truth. With gentleness, with clarity, with care. And for that, I’m grateful. Sometimes, love shows up not in forever, but in the way someone chooses to part with you — not with silence or avoidance, but with honesty and heart.

I loved sincerely. I gave what I could, not because I wanted anything in return, but because some people are just worth the effort. And though it wasn’t reciprocated the way I had hoped, I have no regrets. To love someone honestly is never…

It started when I was a kid.

I don’t remember much about that day, what the weather was like, what we were learning in class, or what shoes I was wearing. But I remember the hunger.

I had nothing with me to eat. No lunch, no snacks. Just an empty pocket and a quiet kind of ache I didn’t know how to express. I tried to sit still and focus, to keep my head down while the other kids pulled out their food. I told myself it was fine, that I could wait until the day ended.

And then someone beside me did something I’ll never forget.

A classmate, someone I didn’t know very well, someone I hadn’t spoken much to, opened her pack of biscuits, broke one in half, and handed the piece to me without a word. No questions, no explanations, no pity. Just a simple act.

Half…