The Enchanted Unrequited

It’s not the night that feels too long—it’s the silence that feels too loud. They don’t tell you this when you’re young— that there comes a time in life when sleeping alone no longer feels like freedom, but like an unfinished sentence. This solitude is intoxicating. You sprawl across the bed, claim every inch of the blanket, and feel proud of not needing anyone. The silence feels peaceful, the dark feels calm, and you convince yourself you are enough for your own company. But time changes the way nights feel. Somewhere along the way, the bed begins to look too big for just one body. You notice the other pillow lying untouched— a silent witness to the conversations that never happened, to the laughter that didn’t spill into the night, to the “goodnight” that was never whispered in the dark. It whispers memories into your ear, presses its cold weight against your chest, and reminds you of every conversation you wish you could have at 2 a.m. At first, you think you m...

Love is not just a feeling—it is a force, a sacred fire that holds within it a beauty so profound and a magic so gentle, that no other power in existence can compare. It doesn’t seek to dominate, to control, or to overpower. It doesn’t shout, demand, or force its way into hearts. Love arrives softly. It doesn’t need permission to bloom, yet it never trespasses. It never tries to win, yet it always triumphs. Even in the face of the harshest aggression, love stands unshaken. All anger, ego, and control melt in its presence—dissolving quietly, almost reverently. Love doesn't fight. It transforms. It doesn’t break down walls; it makes them irrelevant. Where there was once poison, love brings purity. Where there was death—in spirit, in hope, in joy—love breathes new life. And where there was numbness, love stirs a dance—ecstatic, sacred, free. Life without love is not truly life. It is a shell, a routine, a muted existence. You may laugh, eat, succeed—but without love, there...

He asked me, with a playful smirk, "So, when’s the next time you’re going to fight with me?" And I smiled, the kind of smile that hides more than it shows, "The day you come to me and say you’ve found the one for yourself— That day, I’ll fight with you." Not out of anger. Not out of jealousy. But because something inside me will shatter. That day… When another girl touches you. When your eyes hold someone the way I always wished they’d hold me.— When your heart belongs elsewhere—, I will stand still, bleeding without blood. And yes— I’ll say a lot of things. I might punch your shoulder, your stomach, your chest— Not to hurt you, But to stop myself from hugging you one last time. And in the end, I will take your hand— That same hand I used to imagine slipping a ring onto someday. I will kiss it, softly, as if it’s my final prayer. And I will hold you in a hug that says all the things words failed to. One that says: I’m happy for you. I’m lett...

I’m in love with you. Not just the kind of love that flickers in and out — but the kind that settles deep in your bones, that lingers in your breath, and quietly changes the way your heart beats. I’m in love with you, and I know it with every aching, stubborn, fragile part of me. Because no matter where I go, no matter what I do — You’re there. In the silence between thoughts, In the pauses between heartbeats, You’re there. I picture you beside me every morning — your sleepy eyes, your warmth pressed against me like it’s the only place I was ever meant to be. That’s how I want to wake up for the rest of my life— Not to alarms, not to sunlight — But to you. Just you. When I close my eyes and think about the future… you’re in it. Not just as a passing figure — But as the constant. The arms I run to, the name I whisper in prayer, the voice that calms the storms I never tell anyone about. You’ve become the light in my darkest days, The stillness in all my noise. You’ve become the rea...

She had stopped asking for forever a long time ago. Not because she didn’t believe in love — but because she had tasted what it felt like to give everything and still not be chosen. What she craved wasn’t eternity anymore — it was just one day. One day where she could know, not imagine. One day where she wouldn’t have to wonder what it feels like to be loved like you’re the only one in the world. “Can I have you for just one day?” She didn’t say it loudly — it was more of a prayer than a question. “Just for one day… can you pretend I’m yours? Choose me, the way I’ve always chosen you… without pause, without fear, without conditions.One day where I wake up beside you, open my eyes and find yours already waiting… filled with love, not confusion. One day where I don’t have to wonder if I’m enough — because your arms say it all.” She wanted that morning. That moment. Waking up in his arms, the sunlight falling softly across the sheets, their legs tangled, the world quiet. His sleep...

It was a full moon night and Christmas Eve. The sky above was dressed in moonlight, the streets below glimmered with festive lights, and a cold hush wrapped the world like a soft blanket. But in her heart, something unfamiliar stirred — a quiet excitement, a tremble that came not from the winter, but from something about to begin. She didn’t go out looking for magic that night. But magic found her anyway — in the shape of him. He didn’t arrive with noise or chaos. He came softly, like a calm breeze that brushes your face without warning. His presence was not loud, but it lingered. The kind of presence that makes you forget the world for a moment — the kind you remember for a lifetime. There was something about the way he looked at her — not with desire, not with urgency, but with softness. And before he touched her, he asked for her permission. That one gesture — so small, so rare — melted something inside her. His lips on hers didn’t feel like fire. They felt stillness — like a la...

No one ever saw me bleeding, because my pain wasn’t visible. There were no bruises, no broken bones. Just this constant, quiet ache inside me that I carried every day. The kind of pain that doesn’t scream out loud but grows heavier in silence. The kind that makes you sit in a room full of people, smiling, laughing even — while inside, you’re barely holding yourself together. Most days, I pretended to be okay. I’d nod, say the right things, show up when I had to. But a part of me always wished someone would really look at me and ask, “Are you truly okay?” And mean it. Not out of politeness — but because they could feel something was off. Because they cared enough to notice. I loved people deeply. Gave them the best of me. I was always the one trying harder, holding on longer, giving more — hoping someone would do the same for me. But they didn’t. I loved like it was everything, and they received it like it was nothing. I stayed loyal, even when they grew distant. I gave warmth, even w...