I catch myself missing places I’ve never been to, and it feels oddly real.

Tiny wings beating faster than the eye can follow.

Small routines, like making coffee, sometimes feel more human than all the big plans I chase.

A late-night walk through quiet streets feels like stepping into another world. It’s the only time the city breathes with you instead of against you.

Some people leave footprints in your heart, others just leave a mess.

Soft embrace of morning light.

I wonder if the stars ever get tired of being wished upon every night by people they’ll never meet.

The more I travel, the more I realize that home isn’t a place but a feeling.

There are moments when time feels elastic, stretching endlessly, then snapping back without warning.

I bought a candle for relaxation, then burned my hand lighting it.

I’m still learning the difference between rest and laziness.

Every person you meet leaves an imprint on your story — some are paragraphs, some are footnotes.

Not everyone needs to understand your choices. Some are only meant to be lived, not explained. Let them wonder.