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UNSEEN 👀

Some people become strong not because life was kind to them, but because it wasn’t. They learn early how to listen, how to notice small changes in mood, how to offer comfort without being asked. They become the ones who remember birthdays, check in late at night, and stay when things get heavy. To the world, they are kind. But underneath that kindness is a quiet history of learning how to survive without the care they deserved. When you grow up needing support that never fully came, something inside you adapts. You become what you were missing. Taking care of others becomes more than an act of love — it becomes a language of healing. Every time you show up for someone, you are gently rewriting your own story. You are telling the younger version of yourself: You mattered. You always did. This doesn’t mean your pain disappears. But it softens. It finds meaning. It turns into empathy instead of bitterness, tenderness instead of walls. So if you are someone who gives easily, wh...
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VOIDBOUND

Overthinkers don’t fall slowly; they sink. They attach with their whole nervous system, not just their heart. A delayed reply can feel like rejection. A shorter sentence can feel like distance. A change in tone can rewrite their entire day. They read between lines that were never written, notice pauses others overlook, feel shifts before they’re spoken. Their mood becomes a mirror— reflecting how loved, wanted, or safe they think the other person feels toward them. It’s not a weakness. It’s hyper-awareness born from caring too deeply, too honestly. They don’t just listen to words; they listen to energy. And when that energy changes, even slightly, their mind starts asking questions their heart isn’t ready to answer. Overthinkers don’t need grand gestures. They need consistency. Reassurance. Gentle clarity. Because when they love, they don’t just love the person— They carry the weight of every unsaid thing too.    -VAISHNAVI DHAMODHARAN 🩵
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THE ARCHIVIST OF MY HEART🫴

I say I’ll forget, but memory is a tide that never leaves the shore. Your name is stitched into the quiet of my nights, thread by thread, like constellations refusing to fall from the sky. The silence always remembers— it hums your echo in the hollow of my chest, folds your shadow into every pause between my breaths, and keeps you alive where even dreams are afraid to linger. I try to let go, but the heart is a stubborn archivist, pressing your moments like fragile flowers between the pages of my soul. And so I live— half in the forgetting, half in the eternal remembrance of you -VAISHNAVI DHAMODHARAN 
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FOOTNOTES OF DESIRE 🤌

Dear Notes, Today I touched the sky with bare hands— With a basin, a towel, and all my love, I washed the sun off his feet, And the tired roads he walked before me. Each toe, a temple. Each heel, a hymn I hummed silently, As if loving him through skin Was a sacred kind of language only I spoke. Forty-five minutes turned to forever— And there I was, tucked on his shoulder, My room breathing softer than usual, As if the walls knew not to interrupt. The second time he stepped into this shrine of mine, He sat on my bed— Oh! How the cotton remembered Maniratnam’s frames, Where time pauses just to witness love unfurl Dear Notes, Today was more than love. It was cinema, It was surrender, It was us— Unwritten, unsaid, but deeply felt. — With ink from my heart.
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The Name that Paints my Face❤️

After gym, the world was slow, But he appeared with that golden glow. Sleep still dancing in his eyes, Skin like dawn, where sunlight lies. I stood there, lost—my heart a flame, My soul igniting just from his name. My mind went blank, my lips went wide, My blush refused to run and hide. Teeth on show, and cheeks so red, Thoughts of him raced through my head. My mom just stared: "Why do you grin?" But how could I cage what lives within? His name—it’s magic. Just one sound, And butterflies all gather ‘round. No warning, just that lovely burn— My smile too stubborn to unlearn. His waking eyes—oh, heaven’s hue, Like morning skies dipped fresh in dew. I’ve seen no art, no painted light, That ever matched that quiet sight. So now, I laugh like love’s own fool, No calm, no cool, no practiced rule. Because just his name can light my days, And set my silence all ablaze.
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MET HIM HALFWAY

Love on him—gently, like dawn meets the sky, Hug him like silence when the world passes by. Remind him he matters, he’s more than his pride, That even the strongest break quiet inside. Assure him, be still, hold his storms in your hand, Not to fix every crack, just to help him withstand Be patient—he’s growing, like you, in the dark, Chasing his light with a flickering spark. Pray for him softly, when words lose their way, Let your heart kneel for him at the end of the day. Cater to wounds he hides deep within, Love isn’t weakness—it's where you begin. He’s not a warrior without need for grace, He’s a soul in a world that moves at a pace. Just like you, he’s trying to breathe and believe, To heal from the past, to dream and to grieve. That 50/50—don’t let it feel small, It’s how two hearts rise and never let fall. Even if he could carry the weight of it all, Let him lean too—love builds when we crawl. So meet him halfway, with arms open wide, Not behind or ahead, but right by his s...
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