Why do some people get love effortlessly, while others have to search for it, losing themselves in this search? Why is someone else's happiness always heavier on the scale than their own joy? It seems to me that justice is something illusory, a mirage that we are looking for, but it never comes where we expect it. 🌫

I watch the people around me and I understand that almost everyone lives in a constant race for someone: for attention, for the feeling of being “needed”. And at the same time, real emotions, real relationships often remain behind the scenes.

Love is not only big words, but also small details that make us happy

Sometimes it seems that people are ships, and I am a lighthouse that does not know who to shine for, but still shines so as not to drown in the darkness.

Other people's laughter reaches me through the walls. It's strange - I don't envy. Sometimes I smile at myself, sometimes I don't.

Why doesn't it hurt? I don't know. Maybe because I like to be an observer, or because I'm learning to be myself.

On the one hand, I dream of someone understanding me without explanations, so that the person's presence next to me does not require effort. On the other hand, I am afraid of these same efforts, afraid of dependence, afraid that I will lose myself in someone's life 🌊.

It's quiet in it, but sometimes too loud in my head. I walk through my thoughts, like through familiar streets, and I notice that each of them keeps little stories about people I once called close.

How to make your phone help you live, not take your life away.

Not the search for happiness, but how it came to me one day — in the form of a cat, an old song, or a sudden call.

The story of how a place I had been passing for years suddenly became my personal museum, library, and therapist.

Corners of the world and soul, where summer is not a season, but a state. Streets that smell of the sea even in January, about cities where the sun lives in every stone, and about moments when it seems that time has stopped.

And then suddenly I notice a cloud that seems pink from the sunset, or I hear the laughter of random people on the street, and I understand: the world is huge, strange and amazing. 🌇

Every lamp, every flickering screen is someone's joy, someone's pain, someone's love. And I... I just watch life flow. Sometimes I want to join in, and sometimes I want to stay in my silence. 🌫

Not in the sense that I'm a bad person or that I don't know how to love, but that this whole "romantic routine"... well, sometimes it really does look like a strange game, the rules of which no one has really explained. 🎲

I sit and think, “Why do I need someone now if I myself can barely figure out what I want?” 🍵

I see couples holding hands, sharing laughter and warm glances, and I understand that I really want this... but at the same time I'm afraid. 😔

One breath — and you're back where you were happy.

It's not just the scent of paper and paint. It's a whole world that lives between the pages.

No, I'm not superstitious. But sometimes weird habits help better than logic.