Hey there, fellow wanderers of the web! Step into my cyber realm, where I spill the deets myself and my interests. This blog is a digital diary, except not so personal that it is not filled with pictures, quotes and music videos of course!
"So you're somebody now
But what's a somebody in a nobody town
I don't think you even know it" - Professional, The Weeknd
I just got back from the capital. It's weird how you can go somewhere for just a few days and it feels like an entirely different world. And then you come back home, and everything is... still. Like nothing changed except me.
The city was alive. Like, really alive. Neon signs flickering, streets buzzing even at midnight, people rushing around like they have somewhere important to be. And me? I felt like I belonged there. Like I was a part of something bigger. I remember standing on a bridge, the lights reflecting off the water, and thinking: This is what it feels like to be infinite.
Now I'm back home. Everyone here keeps asking how my trip was, and I just smile and say it was fun. But it was more than fun. It was like breathing fresh air after being underwater for too long. And now? It feels like I'm holding my breath again. My mom, the only person I travelled with, is also different. That sparkle, that lust for life I get when I travel, it's gone as soon as the train or plane stops.
Food doesn't taste right anymore. Again. My appetite is completely gone, and I can go days without any food. But I have to eat a bit with my family. Sorry, I wasn't going to bring up struggles here... But how do you explain that your soul feels... homesick? For a place that isn’t even technically your home?
I know people say you should appreciate what you have, and I'm trying. Really. But it just feels like the smaller the place, the smaller I feel. Like I’m shrinking back into this version of me that doesn’t fit anymore.
Maybe this is just a phase. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and the sky will seem bluer and I’ll laugh at something stupid and forget how heavy my chest feels. Or maybe not. Maybe this is what growing up is: realizing the world is huge and beautiful, and you’re stuck in one little corner of it.
Either way, I can’t stop thinking about the city. How the streets hummed like a song I didn’t know I knew all the words to. And how now, everything feels too quiet. Too slow.
I miss it. I miss her — the girl I was when I was there. Love, Lenna
Valentine’s Day. A day of love, chocolates, and roses. A day where couples flood social media with cute selfies and song lyrics. And yet, here I am—alone. Again.
It might sound ridiculous to some. I mean, I’m the girl who gets attention everywhere I go. I get messages from guys all the time, telling me how beautiful I am, how much they’d love to take me out. I’ve been stopped on the street by strangers, told I look like an angel, a dream, someone too pretty to be real. And still, when February 14th rolls around, I don’t have that special someone holding my hand, posting about me, calling me theirs.
It makes me wonder—what am I doing wrong?
People assume that if you’re pretty, love comes easy. That you can pick and choose whoever you want, whenever you want. But the truth is, attention isn’t the same as love. Compliments don’t equal commitment. And DMs don’t mean devotion.
Maybe guys see me as just a pretty face. Maybe they think I have too many options, that I’d never choose just one. Maybe they’re intimidated. Or maybe… they only ever liked the idea of me, not the real me.
And then there are the girls. The ones who whisper, roll their eyes, throw fake smiles my way. Some assume I’m stuck up, that I think I’m better than them just because guys notice me. Some say it must be easy for me. But if it were, why do I feel so alone? Why do I second-guess my beauty when jealousy turns into coldness? Why do I wonder if it’s all just an illusion—if I were truly beautiful, wouldn’t someone want me by now?
I know I’m young. I know love isn’t a race. But when you’re surrounded by couples, when people constantly tell you how much they want you but never actually stay, it stings.
So here I am, another Valentine’s Day spent scrolling through other people’s love stories. Maybe one day, someone will look at me and see more than just my face. Maybe one day, it’ll be my turn to have the kind of love people write about.
But for now, it’s just me, playlists, and my little blog. Happy Valentine’s day, I guess. Love, Lenna
Dear reader, it's now been a year since The Silence In Chaos was posted. "Time, the elusive creature that slips through our fingers like grains of sand. A month can feel like an eternity, or it can vanish in the blink of an eye." I wrote, because I was more poetic back then. But now suddenly I'm writing in a completely different way. Well, I'm a completely different person, but I miss being poetic. Let me twirl back into my old roots for a moment.
Fifteen drifts away like smoke from a candle, curling into the past, lost in the air. A year of love, of aching, of midnight tears and golden mornings. A year of learning to carry my own heart, even when it felt too heavy.
Now, sixteen glows on the horizon, honey-dipped and untouchable. Sweet, like the first inhale of spring air after a cold winter. Sharp, like the burn of starlight when you stare too long. It comes in waves, in whispered promises, in the quiet understanding that this, too, will be another year I will one day say goodbye to.
The Weeknd’s voice slips through my headphones, velvet and electric. His words, a slow drip of neon sin and longing, melt into my bloodstream. Lana Del Rey hums through my bones, her voice the sound of cigarette smoke in an empty parking lot, of roses crushed beneath high heels. They take me higher than I’ve ever been, higher than I will ever be. Their music is my heroin—intoxicating, dizzying, beautiful. It makes the world feel cinematic, like I am not just living, but existing in an eternal, golden hour.
I want sixteen to be just that—golden, endless, radiant. I want rooftop sunsets and 2 a.m. car rides. I want nights that feel like forever, where the moon hums secrets only I can hear. I want to feel everything, to itaste life like a peach in the heat of summer, sticky and sweet.
Fifteen, you were beautiful and brutal, a dream and a lesson. Sixteen, be kind to me. Be wild. Be free. Be everything. Yours truly, Lenna ❤
