REMINISCE MAGNOLIA🌸

When I say that I will remember you,

what I mean is that one day

I will be sitting under the tree on top of a hill

reading a book in the warm summer breeze and

I won’t remember my math homework

that is due soon or the grocery list in my purse

my mother asked me to buy for her, but

I will remember the way the sun used to fall just right on your red cheeks and

make your skin glow,

how you hated that the breeze would play with your hair and

cares the small hairs you used to tuck behind your ears.

I will think, I hope he is happy,

I hope he found what he went looking for.

One day I will hold my baby in my arms for the first time and

I will feel his fingers wrap in mine and

I will hold my breath and tears will flood out of my eyes.

I will sit there and know that this is the happiest day of my life.

At the back of my mind I will wonder if your dreams came true too,

if you are now a father too.

One day when I’m 90 years old and my legs can barely work and

every breath I take feels like an effort,

I will visit the graveyard.

I will walk past the graves of everyone

I know that has already passed away, my husband, my mother, my family, my friends and

I will lay flowers.

And I will see everyone’s grave but I won’t see yours.

And I will look up at the sky and count the stars the way you liked to and pray to God.

I will tell him, “I don’t know if he is still alive, and I know we can’t choose the life we get, but I hope you were kind to him, I know he deserved it”.

-VAISHNAVI DHAMODHARAN

Comments

INK & SILENCE

She writes in verses, soft and deep, Where love and longing gently sleep. In every line, his name takes flight, A quiet star in her endless night. Her pen bleeds dreams he cannot read, Though he's the muse, he doesn't heed. He speaks in glances, not in rhyme, His world runs fast, not marked by time. She hands him poems, heart unrolled, He shrugs, not grasping what they hold. No praise, no pause, no gentle sigh, Just puzzled looks and passing by. Yet still she writes — her silent art, With hope that someday he’ll take part. Not in her stanzas, line by line, But in the space where meanings shine. For love speaks not in ink alone, It’s in the way two hearts are shown. She dreams he'll learn, not how to write, But how to feel her quiet light. And maybe when her pages fade, He'll miss the words he never weighed — The girl who built a world so wide, While he stood watching from outside - V@!$HN@V! DH@M0DH@₹@N

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.

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 🩵

Vaishu writes

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