February always feels quieter than the other months.
It doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t demand grand resolutions or loud transformations.
It simply arrives—short, soft, and a little tender.
This month reminds me that not everything needs to bloom loudly to matter.
Some days in February feel heavy.
Some mornings begin with tired bones, unspoken emotions, and small misunderstandings that linger longer than they should. Other days surprise me—with warmth, with kindness, with moments that feel like quiet...

Under the hum of flickering lights,
a pen waits, trembling in its duty.
The air smells of paper and polish,
of stories sealed in quiet ink.

A chair creaks—truth takes its seat.
Words march out, hesitant soldiers,
each one carrying a fragment
of what the heart remembers.

The officer nods, steady as stone,
eyes tracing the path of confession.
Outside, sirens bloom like restless flowers,
their petals fading into distance.

When the final line is signed,
silence folds the room in half.
Somewhere between fear...

Dear 2026,
I arrive gently, carrying all that 2025 taught me.
I step forward with softer expectations and braver hope.
I choose patience over rushing, truth over pleasing, rest over proving.
May this year meet me with steadier mornings and kinder nights.
May my work be honest, my heart protected, and my creativity free.
I will listen to my body, honour my boundaries, and trust my quiet voice.
I welcome growth that doesn’t hurt, success that doesn’t cost my peace,
and love that feels safe, mutual, and...