When You Love So Deep It Hurts
You don’t just fight the world. You fight yourself.
Some Days, I Wish It Would Just End
Sometimes, I just wish I would die.
Not because I hate life.
But because living with invisible pain feels heavier than not living at all.
When you have parents who don’t try to understand you…
it messes you up quietly, permanently.
They still lecture me like I’m the same kid from five years ago.
And they’ll never believe I’ve changed unless some outsider tells them.
They hold on to their perfect ideals.
They never try to see the real me.
Today I told Dad maybe my body needed a little more muscle.
Just needed to hear something kind back.
But nope. Just silence.
And suddenly, I felt it.
Sadness.
Real sadness.
The weather outside caught up with my heart —
no wind, no rain, just thick, hopeless air that smelt like giving up.
Nobody Warns You That Real Fear Starts After School
When you step into Class XI, you think you’ve made it.
But the truth?
The real tension waits right after you finish school.
That’s when you realize…
If you’re not ready for JEE, NEET, CUET, IPMAT, IAT —
you’re already behind.
The irony?
You needed to start hustling way before you knew you had to.
The world’s fucked up.
Brutal.
Uncaring.
And every night, even if the world doesn’t give a shit —
I still pray.
Not for me.
But for her.
Always her.
The World Turns Grey Without Love
It’s been two weeks since I talked properly with her.
And it’s killing me.
You think you’re strong until the silence stretches for days…
until the person who makes everything colorful disappears.
The world feels like dry sand.
Joyless. Colorless.
Even things you love turn bland.
The keys on my laptop are the same color as my mood —
fading grey.
The darkness outside feels more alive than me.
The only thing that keeps me sane?
My North Star.
My reason.
And yet…
some nights, I’m terrified.
Would my life even be my life without her?
I don’t want to find out.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I’m Not Proud Of It. But I’m Honest.
The ideal man inside my head?
He didn’t depend on anyone.
He didn’t break over love.
And yet, here I am.
Cracked.
Bleeding inside.
Because my appetite, my peace, my happiness —
they all orbit around her now.
And no matter how much I hate admitting it…
I can’t change it.
Maybe suffering is beautiful.
Because it teaches you what truly matters.
Maybe being a hopeless romantic isn’t a curse after all.
Maybe it’s the only real thing left in this numb world.
Memory Is a Cruel Artist
The breeze carries away the silence.
Dark clouds hug the horizon.
And through that haze…
I remember.
Those pages from our memories.
Pages that sting.
Pages that heal.
Pages that refuse to fade.
Memories burn more fiercely than the present.
Fear Doesn’t Ask Permission
Tonight, I feel weak.
Confused.
Maybe she’s studying for her exam tomorrow.
Maybe she’s tired.
Maybe… maybe she’s drifting away?
The thought terrifies me.
I pray, like a madman —
“God… Take anything. Just don’t take her.”
Because if love is a battlefield,
I’m standing here bleeding with no armor left.
Love Isn’t a Heroic Sacrifice. It’s a Choice.
I realized something brutal tonight.
If I were a freedom fighter, I wouldn’t care about glory.
I would come home.
I would sit quietly next to the woman I love,
even if the world burns around us.
Because even if you die a hero,
the world moves on.
They rewrite stories.
They forget.
But the ones who loved you?
They carry your ghost.
They cry in the dark when no one sees.
I want to live for the things that don’t get celebrated.
For quiet dinners.
For tired smiles.
For growing old, holding hands.
I don’t want to die for a cause.
I want to just live for her.
Read this next…
https://tinyurl.com/WrongStories