Dear Stranger,
I never meant for you to find this page.
But if you did, maybe it's because you're also bleeding quietly inside.
I write in the spaces between heartbreak and healing
where grief has no name,
and love… refuses to die.
These are not just poems.
They’re confessions I never got to speak,
promises I whispered to the stars when no one stayed to listen.
I am not a writer. I am a wound with rhythm.
Every word here is a piece of me I left behind
hoping someone would pick it up and feel a little less alone.
If you're here,
maybe you’ve loved without being loved back.
Maybe your silence is screaming too.
Maybe you also hide poems in your voice notes,
or cry in poems you'll never post.
Stay.
Read.
Break open with me.
~ Pretty Wreckage