Seafoam Solace

13/04/2026

I carried a thousand unspoken thoughts, yet my mouth remained a graveyard of silence. I drowned on the weight of longing, unable to give it breath. Desire feels different when you are born hollow, when hunger is stitched into the marrow of your being. I could have consumed the whole world, yet still felt the ache of emptiness gnawing within me.

- pearlia, 130426

12/04/2026

11/04/2026

helloo, this is ‘poison ivies in my ribs’ due to some issues and restrictions from fb I had to change my name into the current one;(
I will get back to my old name soon after it’s over;( sigh

Also, I will be posting my arts too from now besides my writings on here:p

29/03/2026

“I love it when hot people date hot people.”

It unsettles me the way we casually celebrate beauty pairing with beauty, as if love were something that must mirror itself to be valid. As if tenderness only belongs to faces that fit a certain symmetry.

There’s something quietly cruel in that thought. It draws invisible lines around who gets to be desired, who gets to be chosen, who gets to be held without question. And everyone outside those lines is left to wonder what they are lacking, when in truth, they are only being unseen.

Maybe the guilt comes from realizing how easily we inherit these ideas. How effortlessly we repeat them. How, without meaning to, we start believing that affection is something earned by appearance rather than something that simply exists, soft, undeserved, and human.

Love was never meant to be selective in that way. It was never meant to feel like a reward reserved for the few.

- pearlia, 29326

14/03/2026

I confessed to the trees that I had never quite learned the posture of faith, that my knees did not bend easily toward heaven, that my lips did not remember the grammar of prayer. I could not bring myself to.

The trees did not rebuke me. They only rustled with a quiet, leafy amusement.

“Then what do you think your poems are?” they seemed to ask.

For what is poetry if not a trembling petition cast into the vastness, a small, stubborn voice knocking upon the unseen? Not always to worship, but to be witnessed. Not always to praise, but to be answered by the mere miracle of an echo.

Perhaps prayer and poetry are only estranged siblings
one kneels toward God,
the other leans toward the world
yet both ache with the same ancient longing:

to speak into the immense silence
and discover
that something, somewhere, was listening

- pearlia, 140326

14/03/2026

Will you sit beside my grave and
press your lips to the silence of my stone?
Will you pretend I am still wandering the air,
threaded through birdsong,
through the restless hush of trees?

When the rain arrives, will you come to check on me?
When storms fracture the sky?
When the sun grows too cruel,
will you water the quiet earth above my bones?

Will you bring my pills and leave them there,
as if habit might outlive breath?
Will you bring flowers?
Poincianas and lilies?
their pale fragrance keeping vigil where I cannot?

Will you brush the dust from my name,
tending the soil the way one tends a memory?

I know you will.
Yet still I ask
because love is a fragile vow against time,
And I don’t know how long I’ll last

13/03/2026

°🍇⋆.ೃ࿔*:

12/03/2026

my heart is just like stained glasses

11/03/2026

I just want to be a floating apple:(