I am a neurodivergent and introverted poet from Alpha Centauri currently touring your Solar System. Yes, I am an alien. Be my reader at your human risk.
Letters Unsent is a collection of reflections and musings—thoughts I often write as letters to myself or to an imagined world. These words remain unsent, holding emotions and ideas meant for deeper reflection, waiting to be shared with those who pause to listen.
The only way you can impress me is by being a human. I don’t care about your social status as much as I care about your emotional and human status. A person who can’t be emotionally intelligent can be neither spiritually nor intellectually intelligent. I don’t care about the house you live in, but I […]
Choosing yourself will feel like losing everyone and everything. That’s when it cuts the deepest — when you’re forced to decide between you and the world.
Destiny — qadar, they say. It can be between the curves of your hands, and still not yours. — Sadia Hakim
In my dreams, I come home to you.Not because I choose to — it just happens.Like my mind’s holding onto somethingit can’t find in real life. You.This idea of you.This feeling that maybe, for once,I belong somewhere —not in places, not with people, just with you. But then I wake up.And it’s gone.Just air, just […]
I’ll be dreaming about the most random things — and boom, it’s you. Everything I dream about, I dream about with you.
Back then, love didn’t need labels. It was just moments — built quietly with kindness, care, and memory. And somehow, those little things stayed with us longer than anything else.
Confused states of mind and misinformation are this society’s biggest weapons against you, and questioning this information stings society.
Every person wearing the cloak of sanity has reduced my soul to clichés. That’s how I know they aren’t what I cherish humans for.
Morning rain — it reminds me of my childhood. Calmness. Such an underrated blessing.
How many times must I apologize for simply existing? Somewhere along the way, I learned that my presence was something to be excused. That my voice was something to be softened. That my feelings were something to be hidden beneath layers of “I’m sorry”—as if breathing too loudly was a crime, as if needing space […]
