Walking under the rain makes me feel invisible, and sometimes that’s exactly what I want.

Dancing on the cliffs like it owns the wind.

The more advanced things become, the more I miss simplicity.

I envy people who write journals. The discipline, the honesty, the ability to hold a conversation with themselves. Maybe I’ll try — even if the first pages feel clumsy.

I don’t think people change. I think they just reveal more of what was always there.

Owl eyes watching in disguise.

The ocean doesn’t care about your worries, yet somehow watching the waves makes them easier to carry.

If the city never slept, would people lose the meaning of sunrise? Or would they invent new rituals just to pretend night still mattered?

There’s a strange poetry in unfinished plans, in things that never became but still live in imagination.

I tried to look mysterious at a café, then spilled coffee on my shirt.

There’s something therapeutic about reorganizing your desk at 2 a.m.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat someone who can’t give them anything in return.

Travel isn’t always an escape. Sometimes it’s a mirror. It shows you what you’ve been avoiding.