Mental Health
Eternal Goodbye: A Love That Never Fades
Lena and Kieran were soulmates, bound by a love so deep it felt like the universe had crafted them from the same star. From the moment their eyes met, they knew—no one else would ever understand them the way they understood each other. Their love was a wildfire, consuming and beautiful, but fate had other plans. Kieran was sick, his body failing him day by day. The doctors said there was no cure, only time—precious, slipping sand. Lena held his trembling hands, her tears falling onto their intertwined fingers. "I can't live without you," she whispered. Kieran’s voice was weak but firm. "Then don’t." They had made a promise long ago—if one were to leave, the other would follow. Not out of despair, but because their souls refused to be parted. The world without the other was a hollow, colorless place, a half-life neither could bear. On the last night, they lay together under the stars, the same way they had when they first confessed their love. Kieran’s breathing was shallow, his grip on Lena’s hand weakening. She pressed her forehead to his, her heart breaking and mending all at once. "I’m scared," he admitted. Lena kissed him softly. "I’ll be right behind you." As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Kieran’s chest stilled. Lena didn’t weep; she smiled. She took the small vial from her pocket, the one she had prepared weeks ago. The poison was bitter, but the thought of eternity without him was worse. She lay beside him, her fingers laced with his, and closed her eyes. The pain was brief, but the peace that followed was endless. When they were found, their bodies were curled together, faces serene. Two hearts that had loved too deeply to beat apart. In death, as in life, they were unbroken. And somewhere beyond the stars, their souls danced, finally free
By Kaushal Kumar 2 years ago in Poets
She Cheated, But
Boys don’t cry, they said. But that night, his pillow was soaked. Not because he was weak — but because he loved her with a kind of honesty that’s rare. The kind of love that doesn’t come with conditions. That doesn’t count mistakes. That forgives. Again and again. Even when it hurts.
By Simanto Mojumder2 years ago in Poets
The Breaks I Take. Top Story - April 2025.
They say the twenty-minute shower, the quiet drive with white noise on loop, the grocery run with a list half-remembered— these are our breaks. Tiny breaths between the cries, the diapers, the lullabies. And maybe they are. Maybe they’re not grand or luxurious, but sacred all the same. A moment not to escape, but to exist— as more than a mother, but still, always, one. I’ve read the comments, heard the pushback: “Those aren’t real breaks.” “We deserve more.” And I agree— but this is what I have. This is what I take. And I call it mine. Because my baby needs me— in ways that reach beyond logic. She won’t sleep without my warmth, won’t settle unless I’m near. And I love her for that. But it’s also why I hesitate. There’s a concert in a few months. A rare moment for me and my sister to reconnect. And still, I wonder if I’ll go. Not because I can’t— but because my baby might still be tethered to my heartbeat, still mapping her world by the sound of my voice. They say sleep training helps. But sometimes, it sounds like silence where there should be comfort. Like teaching her that I won’t always come. And maybe one day, she’ll need to learn that. But not today. Today, she is still small. Still learning what safe feels like. Still searching for me in every room she enters. Sometimes I feel guilty— that she won’t fall asleep alone, that I am always needed. That I can’t just hand her off without tears that echo in my chest. But I remind myself— she was never meant to do this alone. And neither was I. Still, I am told: “It’s okay to let her cry.” And I know that. I do. But crying isn’t just noise. It’s her first language. Her only way to say: Something doesn’t feel right. So I answer. Not always with perfection. But always with presence. To the mothers like me— who breastfeed on demand, who carry their babies close, who are told they’re doing it wrong— I see you. You’re not weak. You’re not spoiling. You’re not failing. You are honoring a connection so ancient, so sacred, it doesn’t need validation to be real. So yes, I take the breaks. I take the breath. I stand under hot water a little longer than I need to. I walk the grocery aisles like they’re quiet hallways in a house that belongs to only me. These are not everything. But they are something. And sometimes— something is enough.
By Carolina Borges2 years ago in Poets
FINDING MY NEW NORMAL
It's been weeks since my world collapse. Joy and laughter ceased and I felt so broken inside. Reminiscing about our road trips, fellowship times, lunch hours and little things that made my world the best place to live in only made me sad. Back then I had so much confidence and energy that I could playfully skip and jump like a child who had no worries. But not anymore. Every step I take forward now is shaky. I feel so weak and confused because everything has changed all of a sudden. I am thrown into a new normal and I had to adjust.
By Emos Sibu Poriei (Kaya)2 years ago in Poets
