Latest Posts by astrum742 - Page 2

lulling waters

“I am learning to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me.”

— Unknown

It's crazy how giant squids and sperm whales just have like giant kaiju battles down in the deepest depths everyday and it's real

let's observe with mama

Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West

I had so much love for you

But u never accepted it

It's still on the shelf of my living room

In a diary of our could haves and what ifs

so when words fail me, and there's no wind in my lungs

please know that you are it all

my salvation, my saviour, my grace

Maybe love is not chasing and begging for you, Maybe it is a quiet afternoon nap, no text to be anxious about, diet cokes and windows and screaming and laughing, for it is summer now, and you don't exist to me...

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.

I'm sorry if I'm difficult to deal with. I don't know how to deal with myself either.

I don’t want a home.

I want a heartbeat

that beats louder when it feels me near.

By yours Astrum

It was kind of a dick move to create animals that require air, then confine them to the freaking ocean

If You Were a Poem

By Astrum

If you were a poem,

I would read you in whispers under candlelight,

tracing every syllable like a secret I was never meant to know.

Your laughter would be italicized,

soft and leaning into the edges of midnight.

Your sorrows?

Those would be bold —

unafraid, unapologetically beautiful.

I would fold you into the corners of my journals,

tuck you beneath my breath,

and let no one but the moon know

how deeply I have memorized your lines.

You are the poem I never dared to write,

and yet somehow,

I’ve been reading you all my life.

"i’d memorize you in ways you forgot you existed"

"i’d memorize you in ways you forgot you existed" by Astrum

i wouldn’t ask for permission to admire you — i’d just do it. quietly. thoroughly. like i was built to notice you and no one else.

i’d memorize the way your breath hitches when you’re almost smiling, the exact second your eyes soften when you let your guard down, and the curve of your lips when you almost say what you’re scared to feel.

i’d learn you like my favorite song — not rushed, but looped forever. until every sigh, every glance, every unspoken ache was part of my heartbeat.

and when you forget how rare you are, i’d whisper it against your neck, press it into your skin, etch it into your bones — until you remembered that being wanted never had to hurt.

Paint

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Dabbing his brush in paint,

Sweeping all his worries away.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A careful mix of colours and hues,

A careful tinge of another shade,

A story that never fades.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A bleak landscape of monochromes,

So very little tint,

A figure standing all alone.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

Lush green landscapes,

So very simple,

A doorway to escape.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Painting a scene so lovely,

Whose model is as sweet as honey.

“If you come close…”

If you come close,

I won’t ask your name first.

I’ll watch the way your eyes soften

when my voice drops lower.

I’ll let you run your fingers

through the stubble on my jaw,

but only if you understand—

I don’t kiss with lips alone.

I kiss with every unsaid word

I’ve been carrying for years.

I kiss like I’m telling secrets

no one else was patient enough to hear.

So if you come close,

don’t come to play.

Come to be devoured.

Slowly.

Thoroughly.

Like you waited your whole life

for a man who understands silence too.

“I write slowly… with depth…”

Whispers Between Pages By Astrum

I have always trusted the quiet of untold stories, the soft ache that lingers between what is written and what is merely felt.

I do not chase endings — I unfold them, slowly, like paper worn thin by longing and hands that know the weight of memory.

Somewhere between ink and skin, I found my truest voice — not to speak louder, but to listen deeper to the words that choose to find me first.

— Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; "The Fear" (via lunamonchtuna)

mood

"i’d undress your mind first"

by Astrum.

i wouldn’t rush you.

i’d start slow —

trace the curve of your thoughts

long before i ever touched your skin.

i’d ask how you sleep when it rains,

what keeps you awake when it’s silent,

and where you ache when no one’s looking.

i’d want to know

the shape of your sigh,

the weight of your dreams,

the taste of your laugh

in the dark.

when you’d trust me enough,

i’d kiss your scars with my words,

bite your insecurities softly

between conversations,

and hold your secrets

like they were silk on my tongue.

and maybe,

if your eyes begged for it,

i’d undress you slow too.

but i promise —

your mind would be bare

long before your body ever was.

The Quiet Things We Never Say

In the hush between two heartbeats,

there lives a truth we all forget —

that love is not the grand parade,

but the quiet steps we never regret.

It’s in the hand that brushes yours

without needing a word or a name,

it’s in the eyes that stay awhile

when the world forgets your flame.

It’s not the fireworks or flawless lines,

nor promises wrapped in gold —

it’s the way we show up, soft and real,

when life turns silent, dark, and cold.

So if you’re reading this, just know:

You matter, wildly, more than you see.

You are the gentle thing in someone’s sky,

the reason their soul feels free.

Breathe. Be. Stay.

You are already the poem today.

i raise it, hold it in front of me. show you, through someone else, a peek inside myself. a keen eye can see through it—but cutting words glance off at an angle. it's not me, just a reflection. and isn't that the point? vulnerability, by proxy. i trust you not to hurt me as far as i can reach into the mirror.