between frost and bloom
aphorisms & ephemera i: the silent tension of february
❀ aphorisms & ephemera
Some thoughts arrive fully formed, like arrows—sharp and insistent, demanding to be written. Others slip through our fingers like water—fragile, ephemeral, only to fade before we can grasp them. This space is for both: the sharp truths that pierce, and the quiet fragments that linger in the corners of our minds, unfinished. A collection of fleeting reflections, quiet echoes, and fleeting insights—meant not to be held forever, but to be savored in their transience.
This was meant to be shared at the end of February, but—true to form—I completely forgot, haha. So here it is now, arriving alongside my writing prompts for March. Two posts in one day! A delight, or perhaps a bit overwhelming—either way, I’m grateful for your attention.
❀ february’s offerings
I recently learned that cherry blossoms bloom brightest when the tree is under stress. Perhaps the same is true for me—my spirit, too, flourishes beneath the weight of what bends but never breaks me.
Love letters do not require recipients. Only hands steady enough to hold the longing.
We think we’re clearing the wreckage, but sometimes, we’re just rearranging ruins until they feel like home.
To be seen is not the same as to be known—you could be looked at like a painting, touched like cold marble, but never read like scripture.
The self is an illusion built of discarded memories buried beneath the treasured—each one cutting deeper than the last.
We do not fear the fall—we fear the moment we realize we were never flying.
Perhaps the soul does not transcend. Like Narcissus, it drowns in its own reflection.
Discipline is love with its sleeves rolled up—tender in its devotion, ruthless in its execution, unwilling to let you forsake the person you were meant to become.
Nothing lingers quite like almost.
A quiet life is not an empty one. Just as not every silence is peace.
❀ my most-used mantra of the month
“Do not let the weather of your moods erode the architecture of your values.”
❀ a letter to february
you slipped through my fingers like ribbon, unspooling, a thing of silk and certainty—until, you weren’t. i have tasted the death of magic, its afterbreath like pennies and prayer, like something i once believed in, now buried beneath my tongue. autonomy was a mirage, shimmering just long enough to make me thirst. but some idols crack like old porcelain, revealing only dust inside, spines too short to bear the weight of their own fables.
that rust does not belong in my bloodstream. i will not take the shape of what abandoned me. i am still here, pen to the wound, ready to carve my own fate now.
When I open my restaurant, even though the food won't be Asian, my customers will receive a cookie after their meal with your messages inside. You have a way with words, great!
"Nothing lingers quite like almost..." so simple and beautiful✨