a conversation

The three of us sat together,
talking about love,
about the kind of people we want to date,
the kind of lives we want to live.

We want to be powerful.
We want to be loved.
We have so much to give.

Some of us want children.
And we’re okay raising them alone,
if the father isn’t good for us.

I’d rather raise a child with peace
than stay with someone who breaks me.

We carry so much inside us.

One of us talked about a toxic relationship.
He treated her like shit.
And she stayed.
Maybe because she needed to feel loved.
Maybe because we all do that—
turn a blind eye,
take the scraps,
call it love.

It’s not weakness.
It’s being human.

We forgive ourselves,
over and over.
We make mistakes,
repeat them,
then try again—
hoping next time
we make better ones.

That’s how we grow.

If I had followed my gut,
really listened,
I would’ve saved myself so much pain.
But I didn’t.
And that’s okay too.

This is how we learn.
Through fire.
Through softness.
Through falling apart and coming back again.

People have always looked for each other—
partners, comfort, closeness.
Patterns just repeat.
Men and women together.
Sometimes men and men.
Women and women.
But Indian mythology doesn’t tell those stories much.
Still, they exist.
Just like all love does—
complicated, messy, real.

And now,
there’s this other layer:
phones, media, stimulation.

A world inside our heads
built by screens.

I feel lighter when I put my phone away.
When I just… exist.
Be here.
Breathe.
Feel the sun.
Look around.

The present is enough.

And yes,
my heart is broken.
The man I love
is with someone else.

It hurts.
But it’s out of my hands.

I can’t control how people choose to live their lives.
I can only choose how I live mine.

And that—
I know exactly how I want to do.