Not in a sweet “aww” kind of way, but in a creeping, uncomfortable way, like there’s a secret rulebook I never got. I scroll through my own life in my head and realize I’m constantly measuring, comparing, analyzing… and it exhausts me. 🌀

We share jokes, stories, even fears, and it feels safe, like a little bubble we create together.

Like, a single comment, a glance, a tone of voice — suddenly it feels like a personal attack on my entire existence. And then I spiral, replaying it, twisting it, imagining scenarios that probably never happened.

not the obvious kind, like winning something or finding a penny on the street, but the quiet, invisible kind that seems to shape people’s lives without anyone noticing. Sometimes I feel like I’m allergic to it.

Some days feel long because nothing happened, and some nights are endless because everything did. I scroll back through moments in my head like someone flipping through a photo album, trying to figure out which version of myself I liked best.

It’s not about flirting or charm. It’s about noticing that little flicker of life in someone else and realizing it mirrors something I’ve almost forgotten I have. That spark that says: maybe the world isn’t so heavy today.

It’s funny, I used to think the worst thing was being yelled at.

It’s strange how someone’s presence can make you feel more alive, more charming, more… you. And when they’re gone, it’s not even them you miss — it’s the person you were when they looked at you like that.

It feels easier to blame myself first than to face the moment it all falls apart. I take a step back when someone takes a step closer; I laugh when I want to cry; I hide parts of myself behind sarcasm and irony. It’s not a plan — it’s protection so old that I sometimes mistake it for honesty. 😅

Not the kind that ruins lives, but the subtle chaos—the kind that makes your heart race, makes ordinary moments feel… alive.

Not in the shallow “she’s prettier” sense, but in the quiet, sneaky ways we measure worth—how much attention someone gets, how quickly they move through life

Everyone is talking, laughing, living their “perfect moments,” and I just… exist in the space between. I scroll through memories in my head, not on a screen, and wonder if I’m supposed to feel guilty for feeling invisible even when I’m surrounded.

I catch myself making excuses for them, laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny

There are three eggs and a bag of flour. And I stand there, stirring them, and laugh inside. I laugh quietly, absurdly, as if I know it's the only way to survive in this chaos.

Not because I want to stand out, but because the idea of ​​"just living" seems terrifying. As if if I don't do something grand, something unusual, I'll just... be forgotten.

Funny, right? Inside, I'm a storm of emotions, but on the outside, I'm smiling, as if I'm forcing it according to instructions. 😶‍🌫️

Everything seems to be going smoothly—work, meetings, plans—but inside, a feeling of déjà vu creeps in more and more often. It's as if you're living according to a rehearsed script, where every emotion has happened before.

It seems like everything's been lived through, let go, erased by time—but the moment I smell a familiar scent or song, something inside me clicks. It's like someone's opening an old drawer I locked myself.

As if being alone means there's something wrong with you. People immediately look for the reason: "Maybe I'm too demanding," "too withdrawn," "too self-absorbed." Too much. Always too much.

Every day feels like a competition—who can resist showing weakness the longest, who can proclaim louder that "everything is under control.