Spring~

lately, i’ve been moving through my days a little slower.
          not because i’ve given up,
          but because everything feels heavier than it looks.
          
          i don’t feel broken.
          i don’t feel like i’m falling apart.
          i just feel tired in a way that doesn’t show on the surface—
          the kind of tired that comes from being overlooked too many times,
          from realizing you’re often the afterthought,
          the optional presence,
          the one people don’t notice unless you’re gone.
          
          i’ve learned how to make myself smaller.
          how to speak less.
          how to accept that not everyone will choose me,
          or even see me as someone worth choosing.
          
          and some days, that understanding feels painfully calm.
          
          but there are moments—quiet ones—
          that keep me here.
          stories that hold me gently,
          characters who feel more honest than reality ever tried to be.
          in those pages, i’m allowed to feel without explaining myself.
          i’m allowed to rest without being questioned.
          i’m allowed to exist without being useful or impressive.
          
          maybe i don’t shine loudly in the world i live in.
          maybe i’m not important in ways people usually measure.
          but i’m still here.
          still breathing.
          still choosing softness over bitterness.
          
          and for now,
          that’s enough.

some people don’t need to hurt you loudly.
          they just place you quietly at the edge,
          again and again,
          until you learn where you stand.
          
          aku terbiasa dipandang sebelah mata,
          treated like a second thought,
          never the priority,
          never the one that needs to be held onto.
          
          it used to ache.
          now it just feels… tired.
          
          but my days are softer lately.
          not brighter—just lighter.
          
          because there is JiangLi,
          existing gently, loving without noise.
          because there are universes where Gao Tu and Wenlang live,
          where pain is named,
          and love doesn’t pretend to be easy.
          
          through stories,
          i found a place that doesn’t rush me,
          doesn’t question my worth,
          doesn’t ask me to be louder to be seen.
          
          maybe i am not important to the world around me.
          but in these quiet pages,
          i am allowed to exist—
          without explanation.
          and that calm
          is enough.

I love Gaotu and Wenlang
          with a love that is both fierce and gentle.
          
          Fierce, because I refuse to look away from their pain.
          Gentle, because all I ever want for them is safety—
          if not in their story, then at least in my imagination.
          
          But in the real world,
          there are Peien and Jiangheng.
          And somehow, through them,
          something in me begins to heal.
          
          Every moment they share on screen
          is something I choose to receive quietly.
          Not as proof.
          Not as a promise.
          Just as what it is—
          a moment, fleeting and sincere.
          
          I don’t need them to be real lovers
          just because they brought Gaotu and Wenlang to life.
          
          Loving them means understanding the boundary.
          It means letting fiction remain sacred
          and reality remain humane.
          
          There is a strange kind of gratitude in that.
          For what was given,
          without demanding more.
          
          I hope all four of them—
          Gaotu, Wenlang, Peien, and Jiangheng—
          are allowed good lives.
          
          Lives that are not defined by suffering,
          not constantly shaped by cruelty or expectation.
          I hope the world is not harsh with them.
          I hope it does not confuse pain with destiny,
          or mistake endurance for worth.
          
          This love I carry is not possession.
          It is not hunger.
          It is appreciation, held with care.
          
          To love characters deeply,
          and still respect the humans behind them—
          maybe that is the softest,
          most honest form of affection I know.
          
          And if that is all I can give,
          then I give it freely,
          without asking the world to return it.

sometimes i think about creating a universe for them,
          
          a place where Gaotu, Wenlang, and Lele
          get to exist without constantly hurting.
          
          but then doubt creeps in.
          what if i’m not good enough?
          what if i don’t know how to give them
          the happiness they deserve?
          
          still… the thought stays.
          
          maybe it doesn’t have to be me.
          maybe it just has to be someone.
          someone who can open a small space in time,
          through words,
          where they’re finally allowed to rest.
          
          a universe where Gaotu isn’t defined by suffering,
          where being an omega doesn’t mean
          carrying pain as a narrative requirement.
          where his gentleness is protected,
          not tested.
          
          a universe where Wenlang doesn’t have to bleed quietly anymore,
          where love isn’t something he keeps losing,
          where staying isn’t a constant act of atonement,
          but a simple, everyday choice.
          
          and Lele…
          a world where Lele doesn’t grow up too fast.
          where he doesn’t learn how to be careful
          before learning how to be loved.
          where home isn’t something fragile
          he has to hold together with his own hands.
          
          i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to write that world myself.
          but i hope—
          that somewhere, through someone’s words,
          a timeline like that exists.
          
          a place where mornings are quiet,
          where love is predictable,
          where nothing feels like it’s about to disappear.
          
          maybe that’s all i’m wishing for.
          not perfection.
          just continuity.
          just a future that doesn’t hurt.
          
          so if someday those three find their way
          into a softer universe,
          i hope it’s written with care.
          with patience.
          with kindness.
          
          because they’ve suffered enough.
          
          and maybe believing in that possibility
          is already a small act of love. 

sometimes i think i fell too deep into them.
          Gaotu. Wenlang.
          and Lele—especially Lele.
          bukan cuma sebagai characters,
          but as people my heart keeps carrying around.
          even after the pages end,
          even after the screen goes dark,
          they stay.
          there are moments when i wonder—
          maybe somewhere, in another universe,
          they get to be a whole family.
          no careful footsteps, no unspoken fears.
          just quiet mornings and predictable love.
          
          and Gaotu…
          it still hurts just watching him exist.
          reading him. breathing him in through words.
          why is this world so unfair to an omega like him?
          why does the one who created him
          choose suffering again and again
          as if gentleness must always be punished?
          
          Wenlang hurts differently.
          not louder, not softer—
          just heavier.
          a man shaped by wounds he never asked for,
          learning love through loss,
          becoming another victim of the same cruelty.
          
          but Lele…
          Lele is the ache that doesn’t leave.
          a child who grows up reading the room
          before he learns how to ask for things.
          who understands moods, silences, scents
          better than his own needs.
          a child who learns early
          that love can disappear
          without warning.
          
          sometimes i think that’s why this hurts so much.
          because Lele never chose any of this—
          yet he carries it all.
          i know they’re fictional.
          i know this pain isn’t mine.
          but somehow, it lingers.
          
          as if my heart keeps searching
          for a universe where Lele doesn’t have to be careful,
          where Gaotu is safe,
          and Wenlang is no longer bleeding quietly.
          maybe that’s why i can’t let them go.
          because somewhere in my head,
          they’re still trying to be okay.
          and i keep hoping
          that one day, in some version of the story,
          they finally are.