Letters-Fables on Suente

Until You Have Wings

Thu, 09 Apr 2026 20:09:38 +0300

I care about how much you love yourself. more than I do about how much you love me. I’ve hated parts of myself too. sat with them in silence, didn’t show them to anyone. and then you came and told me I was perfect. I knew I wasn’t, you knew I wasn’t, but you said it anyway. I don’t know why that landed the way it did. but it did. I’m not going anywhere. not because I have to stay, but because I’ve decided to. there’s something you’re still working through with yourself, and you haven’t finished it yet. you keep looking around, searching, and I watch you and I see something you haven’t seen yet. you have wings. you just haven’t stopped long enough to notice them. So finish the loop. look at everything. take your time with it. I’ll be here when you come back up for air. and when you’ve gone quiet inside and there’s nothing left to chase, you’ll look around, and I’ll still be standing there. I will have been there the whole time. That’s it. that’s the whole thing.

The Years I Let Fear Decide

Sat, 14 Feb 2026 14:05:00 +0300

Since I met you, I knew there was something different about you. you were too healthy, too whole, and I felt diseased, and sickened beside you. you felt like an angel standing in front of someone who had only ever known how to survive in the dark. my deepest desire was to hold you, but I convinced myself I had no right to touch something so gentle.

It was not that I did not want you. it was that I believed I could not have you. the decision was never mine back then. fear held the pen and wrote my reactions before I could think. I did not believe I had the capacity to love, to love without destroying what I loved. the life I had lived had trained me to expect isolation, had woven a deep belief in me that I would die alone, untouched and untouched by anyone.

Two Lines Who Meant to Intersect

Thu, 12 Feb 2026 20:09:38 +0300

When I think of our story, it feels like a stochastic process. not completely random, not fully predictable either. yes, there was chaos, but it was a chaos that seemed finely calculated to arrive at a certain moment. it was you who wanted to stay, and it was me who always wanted to come back. we kept trying to find an ending to something we kept beginning again and again, yet we never truly found one. maybe because, deep down, neither of us was ready for an end. we did not want it to end. so instead of finishing, we learned how to pause. In those pauses, we each disappeared in our own way. I would live in my head, somewhere above the sky, detached, floating, convincing myself that distance was clarity. and you would drown quietly in a sadness you never announced, carrying it in silence for a while. yet somehow, even after all that distance, we would always find a way back to each other, as if returning was part of the process itself. When I try to see our story visually, it becomes two random lines. one white, which is you, and one black, which is me. I keep oscillating wildly, for long stretches, deviating far from the middle where we were supposed to align. my movement is erratic, impulsive, almost careless. you also deviated and oscillated, but not with the same randomness. your path had a quieter pattern, a restraint mine never had. There were moments when you were far away, moments when the distance felt undeniable. and there were moments when I was the one drifting too far to recognize where we last met. but then there were those rare points where the lines intersected. in those intersections, we felt something, perhaps clarity, perhaps relief, perhaps just recognition. but it never lasted long. it was only an intersection, brief and fragile, and then the same cycle would begin again, repeating itself as if it had learned nothing. Still, those two traveling lines were never truly separate. despite all the deviation, all the oscillation, they always seemed meant to return to each other at some point. not to merge, not to settle, but to cross again. and maybe that is what our story has always been. not an ending, not a resolution, but a repeated return.

You Bring Me Back To Earth

Thu, 12 Feb 2026 15:20:00 +0300

I remember you once told me, maybe twice, that I am good at making women calm down. I never thought of it as a skill. I never even knew it was something I carried.

maybe you liked it because when your head start heating out of confusion, or you get lost, you need someone to gently bring you back to earth.

today, it was my turn.

fear crept in . not loudly, just enough to make my chest feel tight. I did not want to ruin the day. it had started fresh and beautiful, like something fragile that deserved protection.

The Hardest Part Is Done

Thu, 12 Feb 2026 14:05:00 +0300

We’ve already done the hardest part, which was finding each other among millions of people. now let’s do the easiest thing, to never lose each other.

finding each other is the hardest part, although it might seem trivial. we are not especial only by our story that is written, but we are special in us. in a way that if we would have met in different worlds, different countries, different languages, even if bodies swapped, if you were a man and I were you the woman, we would have loved each other again, and again, and again, as if there is no possibility. I told you once that this was inevitable. it was inevitable for us to fall in love, not because we took it to the extreme nor because we got to know each other. no, it is not this way. it is simply that no matter how hard I hide from you, and no matter how you hid your feelings from me, we would have still been stuck by the glue.

Before Reading Letters & Fables — Honesty and Affirmation

Wed, 11 Feb 2026 02:30:00 +0300

My writing is often bolder than what I allow myself to say out loud. It is usually more coherent and more honest, because sometimes I do not fully understand what I feel until I begin writing about it. The truth reveals itself to me in the process. What you will find here are the things my heart truly wanted to say, but that I chose not to package in a safer or less exposing form. These letters are not written only for your acknowledgment of how much I carry inside for you. They also exist for me — as a reminder, as a testament that I cared, that I felt deeply, and that this was real. I have lived much of my life forgetting parts of it, almost as if experiences dissolved with time. I do not believe I will forget this one, but if I ever do, these words will remain. I do not exaggerate them for drama. On the contrary, I try to discipline them. I choose my words carefully so that everything does not spill at once without structure. Every sentence here is intentional. I meant what I wrote.

Am I already Longing?

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 18:40:00 +0300

I learned that I cannot truly feel a connection unless I allow myself to be vulnerable and dependent. yet being dependent on something feels like it compromises the independence I have been carefully building for so long. I have always protected that independence, almost fiercely.

Today, it felt as if my soul was craving you. I felt a deep longing simply because we did not talk. maybe because there is distance, I was not terrified of this feeling when it appeared. I let it exist instead of resisting it.

If I Told You I See You As A Friend

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 18:40:00 +0300

I have just realized something important about the way I used to look at you. when you decided to confess, when you told me you could no longer pretend that this was only a friendship, you left me with a choice. whether I see you as a friend, or as something more than that.

Yes, I was anxious. I freaked out. I felt as if this was the end of something. yet, for some reason, choosing you as a friend never felt possible to me at all. because it never truly was, not from the beginning.

When You First Said The Three Words

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 18:40:00 +0300

When you said I love you for the very first time, explicitly, it was phenomenal. I swear I do not even want to write about it. I want to keep it untouched and just feel it. whatever I place on these pages will never fully describe what I felt.

But what matters most is that I felt it. truly felt it. and I know exactly how it feels. I remember it precisely. no one ever told me it would be like this. it was almost magical.

Your Love Changes Me

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 18:40:00 +0300

Many people assumed that if they cared enough for me, I would feel it and eventually change. but they were wrong. they were not my type, and I was never imagining a life with them. their kindness was an offering, something given in the hope that I would love them back.

You were different. you did not offer your kindness as a condition. you wanted me to heal first. you focused on me, on my becoming, not on being chosen. only later did we arrive at the idea that your love might help me. and I believed it would not. I thought love could not reach where I was.

Rationalizing you

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 17:30:00 +0300

I started to write about you in the most recent months, across multiple notes.
Because you were just different.

It is your Innocence

Sat, 07 Feb 2026 18:00:00 +0300

There is something in you that I recently came to realize.
Something that I want to keep.

It is embedded in your soul.

Answer to should I stay?

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 21:10:00 +0300

My internal voices are rarely aligned, the soul, spirit, desire, ego, reason, and rationality are contradicting each other for what I want. And I, I’m stuck between incompatible imperatives. That’s the pit. And it’s inside me.

My table is very messy. I often leave to have more space for myself after interactions that are potentially activating wounds and insecurity. Often it’s a matter of the peaceful solitude I get, The question “should you stay”? defines the hardest part of accepting relationships as determining whether the people should stay or not. And the truth is, I don’t know. Part of me is refusing, the other part wants to have a fixed set of people that never change. The regret minimization framework is telling me I will regret swimming alone. my self is telling me it’s better to grow, experiment, and through knives at yourself instead of others. My spirit wants people who keep it busy outside the hindrance of questions I bombard it with.