just from this, i already know you read with your whole chest. thank you, naomi. if even one stanza made something stir or breathe in you—then the piece already did what it was born to do.
that word—gutted—that’s how i felt writing it. so to know it landed that deeply in you? it means it wasn’t just grief—it was shared truth. thank you for letting the piece reach your core. thank you for meeting it there with your own. 🤍
something small and alive kept you here. that matters more than anyone will ever know. thank you for still being here — and for saying it out loud. the edge is real. but so is the choice to stay. 🕊️
Thank you, Ada. It’s a strange kind of belonging, isn’t it? To know others have walked this jagged edge too. I’m grateful my words could hold the shape of something you’ve felt. We write not just to be heard—but to prove we made it back.
It is a kind of bittersweet belinging, a club in which there are members where there should be none. We keep writing from this edge, it never dulls, keen and dangerous, to be seen and held in breath is a wonderful feeling. We can hold each other when we cannot hold ourselves.
Yes—bittersweet belinging. What a phrase. There should be no members here, and yet, we find each other in the hush between ache and articulation. I think there’s something sacred in how we keep writing from that edge—not to tame it, but to trace it. And in that tracing, we hold breath, story, self. I’m so grateful our lines crossed. 🤍
I am proud of you, though I may not know you. I am thankful for your courage, voice, and strength so that our lines would eventually cross like latitudes on a sphere.
Well Done Solena... Well done and thank you from many who choke on their own voice because they simply do not know how to cope... Respect and Love... Keith
i’m holding this close like a match in a blackout. thank you. truly. it means the world that the words didn’t just land—they rang true. may every close call in your life leave behind wisdom, not wounds. 🖤
From the opening stanza alone, I know I’m gonna fall in love with this entire piece…
just from this, i already know you read with your whole chest. thank you, naomi. if even one stanza made something stir or breathe in you—then the piece already did what it was born to do.
i’m honored to have you with it. 🖤
Isn’t that so true? One sentence can lead to permanent healing. Words are medicine.
yes. yes it is.
it’s wild how a single sentence—anchored in truth—can crack open something we thought was sealed shut. thank you for naming that.
your presence here feels like someone lighting a candle beside mine. we write to heal. we read to remember we’re not alone in the ache. 🖤
I love this 🤌🏻
And YOUR presence feels like someone striking a match beside me. We read to know we’re not the only ones shivering. Keep the fire lit. 🖤
god, Naomi… the way you mirrored that back just made my chest ache in the softest way.
yes. a match beside a candle.
two quiet flames insisting the dark doesn’t get to win. we read to know we’re not the only ones shivering—
but we write to remember we still have heat to give.
thank you for keeping the fire alive beside me. 🔥🖤
🔥🔥 <—— that’s us
Gutted…seen…felt this to my core ♡
that word—gutted—that’s how i felt writing it. so to know it landed that deeply in you? it means it wasn’t just grief—it was shared truth. thank you for letting the piece reach your core. thank you for meeting it there with your own. 🤍
Almost never killed a bird, but it kept me from the edge.
something small and alive kept you here. that matters more than anyone will ever know. thank you for still being here — and for saying it out loud. the edge is real. but so is the choice to stay. 🕊️
My heart befallen
A vision that's eternal within me
I sin because I feared the reaper in me
Cautiously Ive succumbed to the ghost of my parts
The angst will surely tear me
The Limbs that never mattered
Gripped tightly and torn apart
The search light has faded I'm now equal to my heart
Unfortunately, familiar. I know how this feels, I am glad there are poets like us to let others into this world, in a way.
Thank you for writing this, it is important and should be heard.
Thank you, Ada. It’s a strange kind of belonging, isn’t it? To know others have walked this jagged edge too. I’m grateful my words could hold the shape of something you’ve felt. We write not just to be heard—but to prove we made it back.
It is a kind of bittersweet belinging, a club in which there are members where there should be none. We keep writing from this edge, it never dulls, keen and dangerous, to be seen and held in breath is a wonderful feeling. We can hold each other when we cannot hold ourselves.
Yes—bittersweet belinging. What a phrase. There should be no members here, and yet, we find each other in the hush between ache and articulation. I think there’s something sacred in how we keep writing from that edge—not to tame it, but to trace it. And in that tracing, we hold breath, story, self. I’m so grateful our lines crossed. 🤍
I am proud of you, though I may not know you. I am thankful for your courage, voice, and strength so that our lines would eventually cross like latitudes on a sphere.
oh, Ada.
this is one of those replies i want to fold into a paper star and keep in my pocket for the bad days.
the kindness of your words—“like latitudes on a sphere”—that metaphor alone just gave my nervous system a place to land.
thank you for seeing me across the ache.
thank you for writing like this.🕯️🤍
Well Done Solena... Well done and thank you from many who choke on their own voice because they simply do not know how to cope... Respect and Love... Keith
Keith—
thank you, truly. your words land heavy in the most sacred way.
it means a lot to know this reached those who have felt voiceless in their pain.
i didn’t write it to be brave—i wrote it because silence was heavier.
sending you warmth and steady breath. always.
🙏
🙏
beautiful and appreciated.
thank you, samara. may everything unspoken in your heart feel a little less alone tonight. your presence here is felt. 🖤
I have never read truer words
i’m holding this close like a match in a blackout. thank you. truly. it means the world that the words didn’t just land—they rang true. may every close call in your life leave behind wisdom, not wounds. 🖤