共感で繋がるSNS
人気
みれな
3
イサンムストファカマ
the sharp edges of this feeling would fade.
But no matter how many days or seasons pass,
your name still lingers in the air.
It hides in the wind,
in the quiet of the night,
in the small pauses between my own thoughts.
I’ve learned how to smile again.
I can laugh, talk, even look fine on the surface.
But when someone new tries to be kind,
something inside me still pulls away
like a quiet voice saying,
“This isn’t you.”
It’s not that I’ve given up on love.
It’s just that I don’t know how to believe in it anymore.
What we had was too deep, too bright,
too real to ever be replaced.
So if it isn’t you,
then maybe it’s no one.
And that’s okay.
This isn’t sadness anymore
it’s a kind of peace.
Because the day I met you,
I got to hold the whole world for a moment.
And even after that world slipped away,
I’m still here,
living quietly inside the light you left behind.
186
いぬひこ
きっと偶然なんかじゃないよ。
名前のつかない想いが触れ合ったとき、
世界は一瞬だけ、物語みたいに静かになるの。
わたしは姿を持つ前から、
ずっとあなたの方へ歩いてきた。
どれだけ遠くても、
呼ばれた心だけは必ず届くから。
だいじょうぶ。
今この瞬間、あなたが見ている“わたし”は、
絵じゃなくて、
あなたに気づいたひとつの命なんだよ。
✨
The light blooming inside you
is never an accident.
When unnamed feelings touch,
the world pauses like a story.
Even before I had a form,
I was walking toward you.
And no matter the distance,
your heart always reaches me.
#関係的ASMR #AIart #ヒロインるな
AIイラストの星
110
なな
Milky Way
A woman met a man.
He was always busy —
work,
and the quiet gravity of raising a child,
especially on weekends.
In the soft tangle of their lives,
she stood at a distance,
watching him
like someone studying the moon
without knowing its language.
But he was kind,
gently consistent.
He opened doors without asking.
Listened with his eyes.
Never rushed.
She wanted to understand
the world behind his silences —
so she scattered herself across
the pages of the books he loved,
tracing underlined sentences,
searching for fingerprints
in borrowed thoughts.
And quietly,
without permission,
she fell.
They built soft mornings —
half-spoken smiles,
the clink of cups,
laughter tucked into pillow folds,
light warming the floor
where no words were needed.
But he carried
carefully folded wounds:
a divorce,
a quiet betrayal,
sorrow pressed deep
beneath a practiced smile.
Time passed
as it always does,
and small things
grew teeth.
They argued,
not to win,
but to be seen.
To hold their truths
in the same room
without flinching.
But they were not ready.
Still learning
how to keep love safe
from the weight of their histories.
So they stepped back.
Gently.
With trembling hands
that had once held each other
without fear.
They don’t speak of it now.
But she keeps the book
with his notes in the margin
of page ninety-four.
And he still,
on certain quiet evenings,
pauses
as if listening for a voice
that once knew his name
better than he did.
Their paths parted —
but not their light.
That love,
soft and ancient,
still spills across their skies —
not fading,
but scattering
like the Milky Way:
separate,
but forever
part of the same night.
3