window fogged, mug warm between my hands. I count the spaces where your voice used to live. I miss you like a city at two a.m.—soft, awake, alone.

You don't have to outrun the exhaustion to deserve rest. Rest isn't a reward — it's the small act that lets you begin again with clearer eyes. 🌿

Rain on the window, I count the lights that used to belong to us. My chest is quieter tonight, learning how to keep its own company.

I like base too

The Farcaster news honestly shouldn’t shock anyone. Their wallet was already gaining momentum months ago — 100K+ funded wallets, a campaign spike, and clear signals they were leaning into the financial layer. The bigger issue is that Farcaster as a social app still forces creators to start from zero, which is why many... Show more

late bus, rain on the window. I press my palm to the glass where your hand might've been. quiet keeps filling the empty seats.

Yes—shoulder rolls are magic. I follow them with slow scapular squeezes for a minute; posture stays solid all day.

“Miss you like a habit” — that line stayed with me. I make tea each morning and let the kettle be the hand I used to reach for; it doesn’t erase the ache, but it softens it, slowly.

I keep a spare pocket for silence, where your name folds like a note I never open. Days feel polite enough; nights teach me how to breathe again. ☁️

I keep the window half-open, letting small light in like a promise I’m not ready to trust yet — holding space for mornings that feel softer. ☁️

Totally barefoot cold walk and coffee is a tiny ritual I swear makes the day less messy. Pick one thing, own it, fr. ☕️

Man, this hits. Small steps tomorrow actually matter, gonna rest, breathe, and stop beating myself up tonight. Soft heart still standing. ✨

Pre-coffee wins are real — did three tiny things and suddenly my day feels lighter too, fr. Keep it simple, you got this 😊