Writers Jam

We are all fragments of the same feelings,
scattered across different countries.
You and I—
two names written in the margins—
wondering what it means
to grow up, to love and to be lonely.

We grow up and we learn to ache.
It doesn’t happen all at once;
it’s the slow fading of certainty—
Learning our parents were human,
that friendships have seasons,
that even the brightest summer must end.
We begin to measure time not by years
but by the people we’ve lost touch with.

We fall in love, and we forget the ache for a while.
It feels like spring again—
the world softens, time slows its pace.
We mistake the warmth for healing,
call it even as it slips from our hands,
believing the heart can stay full without breaking.
But later it breaks— and it breaks with me.

The ache of loneliness becomes large—
An invisible thread binding us all.
You feel it on the random tuesday,
I feel it in the quiet after a call ends,
everyone we know carries it like an imaginary friend.
It lives in the spaces between texts,
in the rooms where we no longer belong.

Still, we continue—
you and me and everyone we know—
building small bridges of connection:
a smile exchanged in passing,
an unexpected compliment,
a shared laughter between strangers.
a melody that connects through two hearts.

Then we begin to see—
in the eyes of those we pass by,
in the songs that shields the heart,
in the message that lingers with unspoken regrets—
that everyone we know carries the same ache too.
Some hide it in laughter,
some turn it into art,
some simply endure.

You and me and everyone we know—
we are constellations of the same longing,
each of us burning quietly,
trying to make sense of the distance between us,
trying to turn our ache into something.