The ocean gets it.
I started writing because I was afraid of how easily thoughts would disappear. Not the important—but the small ones. How light shifts when I leave a room. The sound of a page turning in the night.
Small observations. They don’t ask to be understood. Only to be recorded and maybe read, slowly.
— Lucía M.
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≻: the beast
The beast is backLurking in the darkWith its sharp clawsAnd…
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≻: where love used to live
The room is pitch blackIt’s coldPainted with dustI stepped onto…
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≻: i am the water i drown in
I gasped for airAs I drownIn my own toxicity. I…

